Shifts of Fortune
by MickeytheMouse
Summary: Her father left her wealth in hopes of uplifting her spirit, but all Christine’s fortune seems to do is bring her further darkness. Forgotten dreams still lay dormant but perhaps in awakening them her rescuer will find that only she can save him in return
1. This Harsh World

A/N: This story shall be an Erik/Christine, yet, no Raoul "bashing" shall take place. As your loving authoress enjoy, and as always comments and suggestions are always welcome.

Disclaimer:Under no circumstances do I take ownership of any material mentioned anywhere in the Kay, the Leroux novel, any of the movie remakes, nor the play production; as such I sadly hold no ownership over Erik or Christine, and cannot whack them over the head to be together. In spite of my constant tries and failures, the movie still ends the same.

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**Chapter 1**

**This Harsh World**

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Rouen, 1841

The ashen floors creaked painfully under the bustle of the household. Maids flitted left and right, fluffing sheets, ironing them, make sure all was right and pristine for when the mistress would return back home from her journey to Paris. True it was only a few hours away by carriage, but the woman had insisted upon taking her leisurely time, it was Paris after all. The only still creature in the tiny room was one small child around the age of seven creeping her nose closely to the chilled window and watching as the fog came and disappeared leaving the oddest of shapes behind from where her face had been. Still, the child shown no interest in what was going on and her unruly hair, unbrushed from the morning, did not hide her non-existent smile.

Her brazen hair, glistened wildly, from the stray strands of braids that hung limply by her each of her ears, each tied still with their own scarlet partner of a ribbon. She stood emotionlessly by the windowsill, halfway hidden between the sheer curtains and painfully clutching her porcelain doll, whose face had sustained a large chipping on the right side from the night before. No tears ran down but instead were placed with an eerie calm.

With a sigh Pauli the child's maid stopped her ironing work and in swiping a hair pin from her secured bun of aging auburn locks turned towards the child. Clasping her palm onto her shoulder and deeming no reaction tightened her grip and forcibly led the child towards her mirror. _'She knows how little time I have to work here. The child could at least be agreeable at times as this, even if she has reason to be so cold.'_ Ripping the ribbons off and unwinding the braids and with a nearby comb, silver plated and adorned with the family's crest, she not too gently untangled, rewound and fastened the hair back in place before grabbing one of the child's new dresses from the wardrobe. And with one final touch and without a word spoken between the two Pauli let herself grin at her work. Then Pauli began the talk she had told the young girl ever since the new mistress had begun her stay. She reminded the girl that her father would again be attending another business meeting that night and while the child's attention to such ramble was scarce it did heighten with the word 'Opera.' But the thought was lost once again in bleak concentration over the matter as her maid continued on in giving her strict instructions, that around noon her father would be expecting the 'Mady-woman' to return and under no circumstances should she be seen or heard until she and her lady guests left for the night.

"Madame Madaline's friends don't like children you see, and yer father'll have my neck _le petit_ if he catches you again, Christine. I know already that doll of yours suffered las' night, but you must understand when your father's been drunken-like. He's meaning no intentional harm to you but you must learn to watch out for yourself. Who knows what could happen to you lest we're not around, or who could take advantage of you." Looking the child in the eye and seeing no obvious reaction Pauli turned to leave but stopped when she heard a quiet voice speak and then with a smile continued out and closed the door behind her.

"I know..."

With that the child was left alone and in slowly edging her way back to the sill climbed up and gazed outward. She silently saw young boys filling out packages while other simply were up to trickery and would rather run about than earn their pay the easy way. Women shuffled by, all dressed up to attend some party and laughing about without a care. To some, the sight of such flattery among them would seem a dream, amongst the prospect of suitors and more parties; to Christine it was her living nightmare, she dreaded the day when she would turn fifteen and be forced into such a role, and besides boys were the least on her mind these days. She knew Pauli would not return for a few hours yet for her lessons and Christine gave a small smile at the thought. Those were her favorite times. After going over her Latin and French, and what she considered her manners courses the music would come. Amadeus Mozart, Frederic Chopin, and Franz Liszt filled her mind and it danced at the remembrance of the other day. Pauli had said though she was no expert on the subject believed her fit for the stage of Paris itself. Of course being her father's daughter, propriety would get in the way of that dream. So long as she lived under his household she was to, when she came of age, marry right and richly. 'To keep the family name' he'd said. After all the Daae fortune was mostly wrapped up I memory now anyways, a few gold coins here and there but it mostly tied in only silver. All the same music was what kept her small spirit going all these long years after her mother's death. It also reminded her of such love stories Pauli used to tell her of her father's old violin days and how he met her mother through such an outlet.

"You know Ayesha," she cooed at her doll, "I think that's why he's always so angry; he misses Mama. That must be it you know?" She was speaking in almost a rhythm, as if convincing herself. "That and the Opera, Ayesha. I heard the other night, when Pauli thought I was asleep that it's in Paris, imagine that can you?" The child sat in silence staring at her doll for a few moments as if hearing some reply but then scrunched her brow some and removed herself to stare into the dolls eyes. Taking her arms to settle around her chest in a manner she had seem Pauli do with her when she'd grown tiresome of her habits she began lecturing the toy. "Well of COURSE, I've always wanted to go to Paris... I've already told you so before. That's where Mama said she'd meet me before she died… No! Maman promised me she'd do it, she promised! You're being very bad right now Ayesha, I told you not to lie anymore, that's how we got into trouble last night. You said Papa would be happy when I asked him to play the violin for me like he used to for Mama… and now he hates me again!" The child cried out at the emotionless face before knocking her down in anguish only to be awoken from the turmoil by a loud crack. Startled, Christine slowly made her way to the doll whose face now held another crack down through it's eye. Then and there she embraced the doll with full force back into her arms, crying for it, crying for her anger, and crying for her father.

"I...I'm so sorry Ayesa, I am. I didn't mean to yell at you, it's not your fault… I don't know whose it is, but it's not yours."

Picking herself up and in calming down her tears Christine went over to the middle of the room where in snuggling the doll in between a pile of folded sheets, created a makeshift bed and silently, to no one but herself and that doll sang a lullaby that had not graced the walls of that household for years.

"_Le baiser d'or d'assoupissement vos yeux,_ (Golden slumber kiss your eyes)

_des sourires vous attendent quand vous vous levez._ (Smiles await you when you rise.)

_Le sommeil,_ (sleep)

_assez bébé, _(pretty baby)

_ne pleurent pas,_ (do not cry)

_et je vous chanterai une berceuse_ (And I'll sing you a lullaby)

_Soin que vous savez pas,_ (Care you know not)

_par conséquent sommeil,_ (Therefore sleep)

_tandis qu'o'er de I vous observez gardez._ (While I o'er you watch do keep)

_Le sommeil,_ (sleep)

_assez chéri, _(pretty darling)

_ne pleurent pas,_ (do not cry)

_et je chanterai une berceuse."_ (And I will sing a lullaby.)

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Meanwhile just South from there in a house not unlike it, another morning was beginning. Even at the early hour a small boy was already creeping out of his room. Gently turning the key to the door he reeled it open just a crack. Pausing a few moments to listen and then checking for vibrations in the water dish he had adapted into yet another on of his crazed contraptions, he noted the silence and for a fleeting moment relaxed his tensing muscles. Just before entering the hallway the boy slips a few items within his cloak and after swiping a piece of white cloth from the dresser raised the cloak's hood. Making his way further down the hall noises began to be heard from the left wing, to where he was never allowed. Loud snores could be heard coming from both his nana and mother's room. In satisfaction he gave an almost sadistic grin. _'Good, then it worked.'_ Using the other key from his pocket he slowly unlocked the farthest door in the hall, the place _she _had hidden all of his belongings, his music and violin most importantly. Slipping in and grabbing what he deemed most desirable he tucked them away and locked the door back.

The stairwell became his next overcoming obstacle. The night before he had used his upstairs window as an escape route, but in giving the woman some credit, she was smarter than she looked. She had immediately ordered any windows within sight, be boarded shut or have mirrors put all around, as if to ward him away like some vampire to garlic. Well despite the mirror aspect, the woman's endearing qualities seemed quite charming; he hadn't realized she'd cared so much. Scoffing he managed to pry open the next lock and then the next. _'Really, does she believe this at all necessary? It's not as if I wake up each morning with a need to go out for midmorning coffee. Really!'_ And in the next moment he was out and if freedom could be described as a horrid, bubbling feeling in your stomach then that was what he felt. "Well this is it huh? This is the harsh world eh? Humph. Smells like mildew and sawdust… Well I suppose I didn't really expect the world to immediately rejoice as soon as I escaped that bin in any case."

Searching quickly for a shadowed corner and finding it, with his face hidden the boy slung himself down into the shadows to think. He stupidly hadn't though to steal some of the house's money and he certainly had no mode of transportation. After walking by himself a few blocks where did he expect to go? It was like sending a tamed lion into a full den of well-bred, full out wild ones. This wasn't his world; his world was with his maid. The poor woman had suffered enough out of him over the years, the boy thought. Over his days of existing, it was hardly a life, she had cared for him and though she did cower away each time his face was revealed she did stay He didn't know whether it was by sheer forced will or payment. His mother had paid quite a bundle to keep her around all these years. In any case he was gone from there now and didn't plan on going back. Sasha, the pitifully thin dog she was, had become his only friend while there. They had come to associate her with him not after too long and the poor thing soon became as deprived and neglected as he had. He was thankful the mutt had run off weeks before, to live on the streets, yes, but better off than he.

After breaking off from the clouded thoughts the boy peered upward and caught the sight of incoming clouds. _'Rain, just what I need at a time like this.'_ Quickly making use of his resources the child formed the looks of a shelter and fastened himself into it, hoping at least some of it withstood the rains. In watching the shower begin his eyes began growing heavy and for the first time in days he slept, even if it was only for a while.

Hours had passed and the sun now showed itself high in the sky and the stirring boy could make out a few murmurs near him. "So what do you think it is? Is it alive?" one voice asked. The leader of the three village market boys stepped forward and shook his head. The foursome had been passing by the alley on their way for a delivery when they noted that someone was sleeping in some sort of box hidden deep in its reeve. Slowly making their way towards him one had been brave enough to take off the piece of fabric from his face and leapt back at the sight. Quickly and quietly calling the lads over they began to investigate him.

"No, I figure he's dead. No living thing could look like that; I mean you can barely see the things eyes through that mass flesh. No I bet some tramp killed him months ago and the rats been eating on him. At least that would explain it from the look of things."

"But what should we do with.."

At that moment the younger boy's eyes bulged open and with his mouth agape, unable to finish his sentence stumbled backwards in fear. It was at this point in time to where the boy in question decided to awake. He had heard a mumbled bit and honestly was tired of what ever it was that was disturbing him. His eyes opened strangely, appearing one had done so before the other and in seeing the four boys huddling together over him, annoyance took over.

"Wa's you want?" Still awaking, his voice slurred together causing a cringe to appear on his visage, only heightening his audience's awareness of it.

"He...it's alive! But how...I.. is it a demon?"

At this point, the child being fully awakened became aware of their horrified stares at him and it is at this point a stray hand slowly made its way to his cheek. _'My mask…'_ There it remained, in shock and realization, until what appeared to be the group's leader emerged in front of him with a rather large smirk.

"What's wrong freak? Just now notice we took your face off. Well here take it back we wouldn't want to see that thing while we take you for all you've got. What do you say boys, Hmm? Doesn't he look the sort of thing Mistress Hibbing's said she saw lurking about the other nights?"

Whether in sheer agreement or whether the other boys followed suit with the other, those who had before been cowering behind now held a new confidence and in a quick toss lunged the mask back at him. At first only slide comments were made to him but before long dust was being kicked and with each new false accusation against the boy with no face the group's anger grew. Finally one lunged at him hoping to swipe a good punch since the thing hadn't moved since they started but only obtained a mouthful of rocks and a splitting headache as he rammed head first into the wall, being the boy had moved at the opportune moment.

"Well you're a fast freak aren't you, I'll give you that."

The child only responded with a growing sly smirk. These boys obviously wanted a fight and since they were so wiling to hurt themselves he supposed he'd let them have a run at it. For a few more minutes that was how the bicker went, dodging and a growing laughter, but as the child began wearing down, as all young malnourished children do, his tactics became slowed. Around some point in the clamor he'd either hit something sharp or one of the boys had held a dagger to him. Either way he noticed he was losing blood at a steady enough rate for his vision begin to blur. He even thought among the darkness of the alley a shadow of a dog could be seen. Clearly becoming delirious, as the other boys noticed, a small whisper escaped his lips. _'Sasha?'_

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**Okay well here's the first chapter. Yes, it will be a few more chapters before Christine and Erik meet, though rest assured they will. But hey I'm filling you in with the background stuff first; sappy romance can come later. ;) And just for all you Kay fans, yes a scene did occur in the novel where Erik ran off only to get beaten up by a group of village boys, just so you know, but I am putting my own adaptations to it. So, see you in the next chapter and... what... Sasha? What's she doing there.. and why is Erik starting to see red? **

_**Mickey-the-Mouse**_


	2. Requests and Requiems

Disclaimer: I own nothing… so there! ☺

A/N: Well here we have the second chapter. My apologies to all of you who may have wished for a sooner update, but life will happen. Also I would like to say to all of you French wizess out there I apologize for the last chapter's incorrect grammar since it was a lousy internet translation, still, the good news is that I am now starting French in school. Mind you it's only French I, but it does mean I have a little to go by in the attempts to have correct French, as I would like to have. As to my three lovely reviewers to the first chapter thank you bunches and here's hoping I don't disappoint you with the next chapter. And yes we are still in Erik's childhood so it often times cannot be helped that things will be bad for him, but fear not we are only a few chapters away before things begin to up for the cute little guy. So enjoy and if you feel the need (which I hope some of you do) then review. Now, onto Chapter two...

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**Chapter 2**

**Requests and Requiems**

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Slowly from behind, a few of the boys that had since the incessant growls began backed slightly away from the small boy, the shape took the form of a middle-sized dog. Taking in the animal and seeing it as no threat the leader gave another blow to the boy and began ranting off at him; just as he spat at the young man and in seeing the liquid run down his face, the dog's growling stopped and he lunged at the group.

Sasha, upon seeing her master treated with such disrespect reacted violently, biting and scratching at anyone she could. Finally, in having her master behind safely behind her, allowed him time to regain his strength and stand back up to his feet. Her brown fur was now in clumps and missing in a few spots. Blood could be seen around her muzzle and her eyes were growing slightly red but in looking back at him waged her tail happily. The boy now held a new belief in himself and with his best friend by his side, daringly faced the boys as they continued the brawling attempting to take advantage of his already darkening bruises. Often times they missed but when they did obtain a hit the intensity was only further fueled as the boy's need to see their blood intensified to where it brought a smile to his face, thinking about it. Then, upon seeing the physical stamina of the four wearing down to the point of exhaustion, the boy suddenly hears the sounds of a few whines followed by loud growls through his clouded mind but halts everything when a loud shot silences the dog's noises.

Sasha's limp body stumbled a few steps before falling down only feet away from the shocked boy. Slowly the boy made his may over the mass of fur and for the first time since his fifth birthday silent tears ran down his face. Stroking the fur lightly the child's mind slunk back to earlier times…

_Slowly a young child clutching a small rose between his clasped hands walked past the long hallway, who's door had been mistakenly left open. With a small smile upon his face the boy happily paraded towards a tall, lean woman, who with her back turned to him was sipping on her coffee. _

"_Morning mother!" the child innocently chirped. He hadn't seen his mother in days and having heard her coming home late the previous night he had stayed awake planning on a special surprise just for her. He had always desperately wished to please her ad he was determined to do so at this opportunity. The woman jumped slightly at the child's voice and while she placed her cup down, reached over for the morning's paper; she did not once turn around or give any notice to the child._

"_I spent all night finding this flower for you mother. Nana warned me you wouldn't like it but I told her that you had to love it. Look, it's a rose, just like you! You're my rose mother. See. It's nice and tall and pretty, just like you…"_

_As the boy's smile only grew the older woman finally gave an exasperated sigh and in a cold voice answered the child's ranting. "What are you doing down here Erik? You know you are not to leave the upstairs wing."_

_The boy looked slightly down heartened as his voice lost a bit of its luster but in one last attempt shoved the flower onto the table and in the process brushed his palm against her arm. The woman seemed to shudder back at the contact before finally turning around towards him. Slow to react at first her fists gradually tightened and her position in her seat quickly became not enough for her to sink into. All she could think about was the abhorrent feeling brought in her. _

"_B..boy, where is your mask?" Her voice was rigid and along with the fear radiating in it was a growing anger._

"_Oh I didn't want to wear it today. It thought I would let the real me give you love. You know how I hate that piece of cloth. It makes me feel like I'm.."_

"_I told you never to take it off! Erik, how can you hope to redeem my love or anyone's when you constantly show such disrespect for your mother!"_

_The boy, taken aback by the outburst of his mother, lowered his head in shame so he would not anger her more with his tears. He had only wanted to please her, he kept repeating in his head, only to make her happy. "Creature, I gave birth to you, do you know it? I gave birth to you. My sweat and blood went into your creation and I have hated myself since. The midwife begged me to have you smothered as soon as you took your first breath, but no, I was against killing you from the start. A sin I said, a sin it would be to do so. Now with all I have done for you, do you still wish to dishonor me?" Slowly her voice that had risen began calming and took a softer, cooler edge to it. Were it not for the fact she refused to look at the boy, one would think she truly did fret for him._

"_No," was all he could reply. _

_The woman, smiling slightly, approached him slowly and kneeled down to him, and in a careful voice she called him to look up at her. The woman's voice now held a cheerfulness, as if she herself did not wish to realize what had just conspired; it remained as if it had never occurred. "There's my boy. You've just turned five this morning haven't you?" The child nodded, still not quite meeting her in the face. "Well now, we can't have my birthday boy with no gifts for his big day. What would you like me to get for you? We're already in the kitchen, I can make you a grand breakfast, eggs perhaps, with sausage even." The boy once again shook his head and gaining courage, looked up at his mother and a smile grew as she didn't flinch. He had looked upon his own sweet mother and she had not flinched. "Well how about we go out and find you something. I happen to know there's a lovely violin shop only a few miles off. We could go and polish up your old one if you like… No? Well then you tell me what would you like?"_

_The silence from the young boy grew as he went further into thought and then as if a bright light had shown upon him he looked upon his mother with love and uttered those fatal two words._

"_A kiss."_

_Taken aback the grown woman retracted her hand from its proximity to him. "What did you say?"_

"_A kiss mother, two of them, one for now and one to save for later. That's what I want mother. That's all I want."_

_The mother's expressions changed so quickly the boy seemed to forget they were ever there at all. Her eyes lost their glisten and her long brown hair fell from its position behind her shoulder to fall in front of her eyes. Darkly her voice rasped out, "You must never ask that of me again Erik, do you understand?" The young boy began to give a rebuttal but he was cut off. "No! You can't ask that of me! You just can't! I can give you anything but that; now if there's nothing else go back upstairs and get ready for your piano lesson. There's only an hour until your instructor arrives and you still have to put your mask back on ... Now go on."_

_Erik slowly began making his way back as the tears that had since dried returned back full force. Then he stopped and in a pleading voice that can only be described as desperation, he flew at his mother's feet, tears pouring out harder than they had ever before, and begged. It was a pitiful sight to say the least but his mother remained unmoving for a few moments before releasing her foot and leaving him alone to his own tears. _

_Calling out once more for his mother, voice cracking and slowly picking up the trampled flower that had fallen to the floor in the commotion he smothered the petals to his face. Soon, however, he was broken away from the wall he had created around himself by the warm breath of something beside him, followed by a wet sensation on the mangled flesh of his cheek. There was Sasha, his faithful dog giving him the simplest forms of comfort the animal could offer him. Smiling a sad sort of smile he embraced the dog, burying his face into the young dog's fur._

Coming back from the memories Erik's sad sobs turned to anger as his breathing wheezed and his fingers tightened into the animal until when removed a residue of blood was left on them. Hunching over, he rose from his position after quickly pulling a strange foreign object from his cloak pocket when the sounds of three of the boys falling down chocking and in silent yelps was heard. All that remained was the leader and he was already backed into a corner. Even in the light of the afternoon the little shadow that covered Erik enveloped him completely until only his eyes shone, brazen like a hawks and a maddening smile shone on his face. By now the trapped young man was frightened for his life and piped out, "Wha..Who are you?"

The child remained unmoving from his towering position over him and swiftly flipping a rope around his neck, tightening it unhurriedly closer to his burning flesh, leaned in to whisper in his ear.

"My name is Erik, but to you I am death." And with that and a flick of the wrist Erik leapt from his hiding place, leaving five bodies in the alley that day, untouched by the rain. Unnoticed to him, following from a distance away was a wild haired man, his eyes deadly and the smirk he wore was enlightened into a strange satisfaction.

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What had seemed only like a few minutes to the young Daae daughter, had obviously been hours, as the pounding on her door intensified as a now agitated Pauli stood exasperatingly glaring down on her. Suddenly, after fully taking in the scene the woman gave a soft smile as she laid the bundles in her arms down and aided a hand in aiding the child back to her feet. Christine quickly fulfilled the task of wiping the sleep from her eyes only for them to glisten with curiosity over the packages. She had always been a curious child and at this moment it became no exception as her tiny fingers lightly grazed over the parcels. It was unlike anyone to expressly dote upon her and perhaps it was mostly because she had always seemed to hate the thought of being some Persian princess being presented the gifts of the kingdom. Instead the simple women from her stories and the ordinary ones on the streets are the ones her mind wandered constantly.

There would be days at a time where she would ask herself what their lives were like: carefree and simply passionate she imagined. Her days were filled with daily routine and protocol, but she supposed the answers seemed the same from both ends. She had seen young girls before, in slightly lesser clothing than her own playing the part. They would first curtsey to another and in locking pinkies would begin mimicking a dance as they swooned at each boy going past them. From her window Christine would shake her head in frustration. Still, like every child at Christmas time, no matter many times would say that she did not need presents, just the sight of them would make her as well as any child grow giddy, and in this way Christine Daae was like any other child. She could refuse no gift, as long as she knew thoughtfulness was behind it.

"Pauli, what are these here?" She pointed to the box on the top of the pile and in playful banter the woman shooed her hand away and grinning, beckoned the child over to her. The girl, twisted her brow and in cocking her head shrugged and all the same followed her maid to where she stood. "Pauli, where are my music and my books? I thought we were going to have lessons today."

The woman's smile did not falter and if it could be said if widened even more. "Silly child. Will you hush now so Pauli can tell you this wondrous news. I tell you it is grand news at that Christine, grand news at that. Why even as I am saying this and not even producing a word of it to you my lips are trembling. My dear child today is a day you shall not forget I say.."

Pauli!" The young girl was in a fit of giggles by now and she quickly covered the woman's mouth with her palm so she would stop her ranting. "Will you tell me already?"

The woman clasped the girl's hands in her own and speaking softly replied, "Your father, he's coming to get you today. And by the look of those packages he has quite a day planned for you."

The child stood there astonished before embracing her guardian excitedly. "You mean to say those are for me?"

"Yes… yes now hurry and take one to put on now girl. I suspect your father's been waiting half an hour for you downstairs by now!"

"Yes Ma'am!" Enthused at the prospect that her father had something in store for her she hastened to finish as fast as she possibly could. "I can't believe it. It's been so long since Papa and I have gone on an outing. Where do you suppose we're going Pauli?" Without even waiting for an answer, the girl continued on her saunter of eagerness. "Do you suppose Ayesha will be able to go. She hasn't been out of this room for years, unlike me and I know keeping her locking in here is making her crazy; why she's even starting to say she hears an 'Angel of Music' that talks to her about me when I'm gone. Of course that's just silly father said the angel would not come until I needed him most and when Papa himself could not be there for me, though I can't imagine why he wouldn't. Papa will always be there for me and love me just like I love Ayesha!" Gone was the misery of hours before and after opening one box with a pale green dress, with not too much frill, Christine began her own attempts at fixing her hair, which only ended up being a trampled knot of hair behind her head. Pauli sighed in joy of the moment and glad to have the child happy, helped her along in getting ready.

"There," Pauli finally said as she turned Christine around to face her, "now you are ready."

Thus, Christine began her conquest down to the parlor where she was sure her father would be waiting. Along the hallway she passed a painting of her mother and blew the canvas a kiss for good luck before swinging the door open to reveal her father, Gustave Daae, clad up to the nines in his best suit. In one arm he held a small bouquet of yellow roses awaiting her, yet the girl faulted her running a notch when she witnessed what sight awaited her in her father's other arm: Madame Madaline.

"Christine, sweetheart, come here I have a big surprise for you today! I know that usually you would be having your music lessons with Misses Pauli at this time would you not?" The young girl nodded her head. "Well instead, today, I have a much better treat for you. You should know, I am sure, that I have been speaking with my recent client Monsieur Firmin about his Opera House down in Paris. Well in a few months after everything is settled I've accepted the partnership and we shall be moving there. Isn't that wonderful!"

The girl glanced quickly at the woman gripping his arm, and then from her father to the pile of bags behind them. "Is that what the suitcases are for then?" The girl's father gave a jovial laugh before shaking his head at her and arching himself down to her level, his arms reaching out to her affectionately.

"Not quite my 'Little Lottie,' first we are going to head westward to the ocean. Madaline has some distant friends out there who she wishes to visit before the move and then we'll head to Paris… just the two of us."

The girl's eyes rounded at this and her mouth agape. The change in her father was great. It appeared that rehabilitating himself with this Opera House had brought back the father she used to know those years ago. Caught up in her thoughts the smile placed on Christine's face turned to slight confusion as she faced Madaline who was giving her an understanding smile. Gustave took note of this and in a polite tone asked Madaline for a moment alone with his only daughter and as the sound of the door closed Christine exploded with her hidden questions.

"But father what about Madame Madaline, I thought you were going to marry her? Why is she not going? Is she going to arrive later? What about Pauli and the house? Who's going to take care of Ayesha? Wow an Opera House! Are you going to play in it Papa? What about write, you are sure brilliant enough."

Cutting the child off with a hand to her shoulder and the echo of his laughter, Gustave Daae hugged his daughter and began explaining. "Hold on now there Christine, I can't answer them all at once. No I'm not going to marry her, though I was considering over that idea a month or so ago, but with the help of Madame Madaline you see, she helped me realize I was not spending enough time with you as it was. She saw how being away from you and my music was affecting me … with the liquor and all. Once again I cannot apologize enough Christine for the other night." The man slid his palm gently over the child's smooth cheek as if memorizing it all over again. The girl sheepishly murmured at the attention, saying everything was all right, allowing her father to continue. " Pauli will be coming with us when we return from Le Havre and of course you may take Ayesha, I'm sure she would love to come, after all no emperor ever received such a great a gift as what I see right here in my arms. Though I doubt I'll play, I will supervise and help the new Patrons and maybe I will find time to compose a bit."

With that Christine excused herself from her father's embrace and with him following close behind, ran up to her room and began packing at such speeds it appeared their departure was the next morning. "Christine slow down there, we're not even planning on leaving until a month or so. Remember, settlements still have to be made and Madaline's friends do have to plan ahead for us. Even with a large home as theirs, accepting three new members for a month will take some preparations."

Christine called back to her father from her armoire, still dragging out every item of clothing she owned into the mix. "That may be true Papa but I have much I wish to take and besides a month can go by quickly you know. It may very well seem like tomorrow when you wake up." Silence fell for a few moments, spare the sound of ruffling clothing until Christine's voice once again broke through. "By the way, what would the name of Madame Madaline's friends be? Do you know Papa?"

Nodding his head at his daughter's antics, and in seeing that persuading her to cease her packing was not going to do much good, he continued to follow along with her questioning. He reached the doorway of the room and as he closed the door slowly behind him; his voice could be heard, however, to only the keen ear outside. "Chagny, I believe is what she said. Yes … Yes, that was it. The Comte and Comtesse de Chagny."

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**So here ends another chapter, and I _will_ say I took great care and pride in making Erik's mother have some good tendencies, as a mother should, towards her son. But I did keep with the notion of her character about the mask and his face. I do hope none of you want to hit me over the head for being cruel to him.. and maybe you should if only to get me to write more chapters quicker. Au revoir for now.**

**Mickey-the-Mouse**


	3. Innocent Nature

Disclaimer:  . . . nope . . . I still don't own anything. Yes, it's such a shame I know.

A/N: Well once again, a late update, but Raoul finally makes his appearance in this. Erik, sadly, not a huge player in this chapter, but he will return so fear not. Once again read and review, I love it when you do; also, a BIG thanks to _MouseintheOperaHouse_ as being my sole reviewer thus far for the second chapter. Now, onto the chapter…

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**Chapter 3**

**Innocent Nature**

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The month passed quickly as did the next for Papa and I. We had made good time to the Chagney estate and with the help of Madame Madaline were graciously welcomed. Mind you, the lady of the house did not take easily the thought of taking in my father and myself. I figure by the tightly grinning jaw that she upheld when welcoming us in she thought us quite the picture. Madaline likewise, with her right and proper ways graciously accepted the Countess' cheek in welcome. I had never before seen two women greet each other with a kiss on each cheek before therefore quirked oddly at it. The housemaid numbly took our bags and I wondered quite perplex fully as to why the lady had scowled at the pair of them. Bemused, I looked onward towards her, taking her in when she sharply turned her head and stiffly asked if I needed anything. Face stiff blank I shock my head shyly and witnessed her turn her back to me and mumble something when she left.

However, I had been so involved in my own happenings that I did not realize that the Countess was calling my name, except when my father stepped in. "Now Christine, let us not be rude. The Countess has been calling us upstairs for some time now. We are not here to take light of their hospitality. We do have a strict schedule here. We have an hour to get settled and then we are expected down for baguettes and jam with the house. Things are not here as they would be at home. Here we are only _nouveau riche_, there will be more expected of us, but Madaline will look after us to be sure. But either way my daughter, the Countess' sons will be joining us later tonight when we go to church." With a twinkle in his eye the aged man nudged me thoughtfully. "I've heard from a valuable source they are quite the lookers; one is even your very age." Quickly with a face of shock I swat at him playfully and while following him to our separate rooms bantered on like I suppose a young girl should when the process of boys is mentioned. "Papa! That is absolutely disgusting! You should know very well that I'm too young for that sort of thing, and besides you're the only guy I'll need." He had smiled sweetly and then, sent me off to change, waving his finger at me in a reminder for me not to be late and then we both disappeared into our own little worlds, each behind an ornately simple wooden door.

And so that was how it went. I unpacked my bags hurriedly straying them about the room without a care _(I never _was_ a truly neat child)_ and found myself gazing outward through the bay windows out onto the sea as I was still doing now. The silence was enjoyably deafening and each gull along with the smell of the salty waters was it's own music to me. _'Perhaps being here wouldn't be so bad.'_ Unaware of it, to myself mostly, I softly began to hum an imaginary tune in my head and thought about the fable that was my angel. From growing up through Mass my whole life, my instant thought was of a celestial being surrounded in a halo of light with purple and golden wings. The sight was fantastic in my eyes, yet I still doubted their existence. With my chin held squarely in my palm I let out a betted breath I had not realized I held. Yes, I was dreaming of Paris again and hopes of a life I knew as a future Countess or even a Duchess is I was "lucky" would never happen. Much like the Jewish scholars and leaders I had read about in the age of miracles I suppose I looked to my angels as some hopeful way to find freedom from the bondage I am in. Although I fear that much like them I will never find him, or if I do, not realize it until… Well it is a far off dream anyways. Somehow I made it die when mother died, along with the hope; I seemed to any passerby to give into my social position. The case was quite the opposite. If truth were told, often to Pauli's dismay, I would purposely mishap my manners and grammar, anything to possibly make any suitor's family think me of … what was the word … "impropriety" and unsuitable for marriage. True Papa would be discouraged at me for some time, but it was all worth it in the end.

Still lost in thought I was humming again and in opening my door to enter the hallway, clad in what father considered a fine party dress with lace at the collar and frilled at it's length and eyes closed, I became completely unaware of anything I might run into.

"Oouff!" This came the sound of the most unexpected noise I ever expected to hear. With my face now smashed into some tall creature's chest and I, breathing heavily and being held up by my wrists by someone, I found myself blushing at the sound of the voice that answered my thoughts.

"Well, well. Mother said that I had a little house guest in my hall, however I did not expect her to be so charmingly clumsy."

What was I doing? Obviously I had ran smack into on of the Chagney son's _chest_ of all things and as a first impression acted a fool. Furthermore why am I still starring at his feet? _'Though they are nice feet'_Oh what am I thinking! Look up already before you embarrass yourself further!

With checks still pink and hair falling into my face I straightened myself up and in reaching out my hand offered him a sort of greeting. "I'm terribly sorry about that. I can be terribly clumsy sometimes, actually most of the time. I'm not very good at being a lady I suppose. Father still attempts at teaching me, but here I am running into you like this and rambling on like an…" The boy's eyebrow quirked at me slightly, with interest before I corrected myself again with a blush. "I'm Christine."

Smiling he took my hand and offered to escort me downstairs where everyone was sure to be awaiting us. "Lovely to meet you Christine. I am Raoul at your service mademoiselle. Shall I escort you down for a light nosh of jam and tea? My treat."

Sappily taking up on his offer, my mind was screaming at me. He was a boy after all and Christine Ann Daae did _not_ like boys. _'But he was kind of cute… right… I think...'_

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The first scent that arrived into Erik's nostrils was that of manure. Like the smell of a hundred men, living within the same room as their horses, drinking, bathing, lathering in their own fifth. He scarcely thought he could remain conscious in those few moments, but the clang of metal rasping quite close to his ears kept him tortuously awake. It was only now that his nerves regained what compose they held as the gritting of ropes rounded his wrists, tangled to an odd position behind him. At first he saw only shadows of gray, then the grains of a burlap bag were focused in as it covered his head. His first panic would normally be to panic, here he was perhaps in some cage, tied up, with a bag strung over his head, yet his mind could make no since of it. His memory was swiped and he knew not if a day had passed or months. All he knew last was blood on his hands, leaving quickly to scavenge for food when a man, rough looking and aged by what he could tell, offered him a bag of coins. He had looked with disgust at the man and told him he was in no need of his money, but once he had spotted the bread that the man repeatedly lurched into his mouth he was caught. His eyes had followed the pastry naively when the man grabbed for him and with a ghostly smile from the man leering above him all went blank.

"Up you! I've been waiting a week for your carcass to come out of there coma. You's wasted a week a' me pay already, sleepin' as you do, now up!" Once again the man swung his cane at the iron bits to catch the started boy's attention. Swiftly, Erik's fingers launched at the burlap, prying and pulling before taking one hand to search the floor ground for some defense. The reply in return he received has a sharp sting to the hand as a cracking sound was heard followed by the callous man's laughter. With one last tug the bag loosed enough and with a terrible pain ripped off of him. His face now fully exposed and newly reddened from the abrasion attempted to it. Looking down to his palm he spotted a stripe had been afflicted and fresh blood pushed outward on his pores, threatening itself through. Quickly Erik's attention turned to the man above him in time to avoid a second swat.

He grinned mischievously as he again took up his cane and in mock gentility gave the boy a bow and gentlemanly tipped his hat off to him. "Well now my boy, I see now that I has your attention so I bid you welcome to my drivel abode. Welcome me lad to the Gypsy camps. You'll be fitted within a few hours and ranked into a brand I suppose…we've already got a fire eater, whiskered dame, and a one-eye," fluffing his beard thoughtfully he paused just slightly before his glazed eyes returned with a sparkle. "I suppose though, you shant be too hard." Again a guttural laugh lifted from the stench Erik had almost forgotten, and in haste, as the man turned to leave, he again swiped up the bag and shoved it over his head; In hope that somehow he'd awaken from this nightmare, or somehow suffocate out the pain in the process.

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Disgusted. Not an hour later from when I arrived from upstairs and already I hated myself. With my dress and manner to the most extent of proper, inside, my stomach was threatening against me. All for the sake of my father it seemed; I was humoring this family and their son. I'm disgusted at myself even now as I see the younger Chagney smile broadly at me. True, he held some slight physical attraction, much so to the extent to get the tom-boy out of me in a hurry and enter the era women usually set upon at least after ten, yet here I am not even nine and already swooning over a boy. It just didn't seen natural, you know, to grow up so fast and still stay so small to the world. I could only imagine the thoughts running through his head as he chatted with his mother charitably as did his brother. The nonchalant air of it all was shortly driving me frenetic as I sat drinking my tea. Slowly, sip by sip, chatter, nod my head, chatter, and gossip, nod again and toast. To breathe a sight of relief time was with me as the Lady of the house quickly dismissed us and quicker than I had seen a mouse in the slums of this fair city go after cheese I sought the refuge of my room, behind closed doors.

Alone again my thoughts, which I had thought would come to ease, betrayed me. All that filled it was that of my father, this house, and a certain Raoul de Chagney. _'Did he like me? Did I him?' _The very moments of coming of age and already I was confused I had heard and read about in books how when a woman first finds love there are certain rules it seemed they all followed. First (at the meeting) the man would curtsey and she would do the same. _'Well already I'm failing at this love stuff…that is if I like him…I mean…'_

Next they would exchange names and the male would often kiss her hand or cheek. I was quite sure that had been followed through correctly, if not by me then by the Chagney boy. I supposed and rationed that this meant he liked me and thus bean my endless torture. Immediately summoning from my room and into the library once the coast was clear I surrounded my self in books about courtship and lady-like manners. Obviously I held no idea what this realm all meant, but the excitement of being a princess awoken from a terrible sleep by a prince or sleeping through a pea ridden bed to prove my loyalty to be married. All at once it seemed so overly romantic and with the limited reasoning I held, I thus decided that if he liked me I would attempt to do the same.

It was not hours later when my father knocked on my door to find my bed covered in beans like they had sprouted from the earth and me numbly attempting a proper curtsey in from of my mirror. I do admit I must have been a sight as I blushed faintly as he looked at me quizzically. Still, even beyond my jovial ambition and laughter something told me that something was not right. Perhaps I had only overexerted myself, yet even through the night I could not help but tread on that feeling.

"Christine, come along now. The Countess de Chagney has invited us for a stroll at sea. It's not far from here, only a few minutes. It's needed that I go…and Raoul and his brother, Philippe will be there; perhaps this would be a good chance to get to know them. We will after all be staying here awhile before we move onto Paris."

Despite my father's words being purely of innocent nature, I could not stop a rush of air entering my lungs quickly at the thought of actually speaking to him again. I nimbly took his hand and we headed off.

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**This ended a little shorter that I would have previously liked, but still I believe a well enough place to stop. True updating has been a slight problem these past weeks, and I could right now give you every excuse in the book about school and life as to why this update is late, but I won't. (Partly because I just inadvertently told you) I hope to get another chapter down quickly in a week or at least by the first week in March. All the same, this chapter I suppose is dedicated to my 17th birthday, which will be tomorrow the 28th, this little fact that helped me along in finding time to finally submit this new edition. I hope everyone had a good Valentine's and for those celebrating Mardi Gras, bonus wishes for you when it starts tomorrow. Well I'm off back into my little hole. Read and review if you please. It might just bring me out of my tunnel sooner. ; )**


	4. Still a Child

Disclaimer: nil, zilch, nada, zero, nonentity, nothing … you got it? I don't own it.

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**Chapter 4**

**Still A Child**

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As my hair flayed in the wind, as I would play in the ocean's turbulence I could not help but imagine that my own world had disappeared. Gone was the carriage journey over where I felt that all eyes considering me. Gone was the feeling of uptight and hopelessness on my situation under the Chagney estate. Here I was free in these waters up to my knees. I wore a white summer dress, yet to fit me as I danced about. For once it was not unlady-like of me to do so, even by privileged standards, I was still a child and a girl more or less.

Faintly hearing the calls of my father for me to come back I prattled past my salty friend back to where I truly belonged in the realm of society; reality was always one of those big things that awoke you from even your greatest dreams, and sometimes bringing you back into the bad reveries. Finally reaching the oceanic slope where my father awaited me I was once again met with the others, specifically Raoul. For once he looked at me with scrutiny as my once light hair stuck to my face in odd places, covering itself with salt. I, however, wore a wide smile and paid him no mind as I gazed into my father's eyes lovingly. In an instant I had leapt upon him in a gigantic embrace. For a few moments his passion enveloped into me without bound, but as I felt his grip tightening as his body at the same time inched away from me I stopped to gaze at him. His face was unreadable as he recollected himself, but in seeing my questioning expression passed it off with a wave of his hand, saying he was only hungry. Somewhat satisfied with this answer I let him go and turned again to the sea, both to once again enjoy myself and ensure hat he would not see my still worried features.

I kept repeating to myself hat everything was all right and that the jitters I now once again experienced was just that of a coming excitement. Venomously in trying to hold back unneeded tears I pried at my scarf painfully, not realizing until it was too late that I had untied it until it scampered past me, landing aside the cliff caught on a branch, both of which were dangling dangerously close to the sea's encompassing blue. The boy, who before had seemed to frown on me as if in that instant he realized my inapt qualities, instantly came alive at the thought of heroics. I pleaded him to stop as he raced to the edge of the cliff to save such an insignificant parcel. Extreme worry surrounded me and I could think of nothing else.

At first his fingers seemed to easily come within reach of it. As our parents were still preoccupied with business of sorts my gaze could not decide what to focus on, the boy, foolishly rescuing my scarf or the parents who would surely be despondent and raged by the behavior, frivolous as it was. The next moment I heard a yelp and when returning my eyes to the cliff saw no Raoul panicked and ran for where he once lay. By now I was screaming out shouts of hate to the wind as I saw it now carried my scarf, that stupid piece of cloth further out to he waterline until a barely visible figure broke he water chasing after it.

"Raoul! Where are you?"

For a few moments my pleads seemed to reach no ears until muffling was heard in the near distance. With the leap up on a hand carrying the precious silk I pulled him back up. As he was thrown back onto land and upon greater inspection I realized the slope to be not a perilous as I first perceived, but still a bit of a climb.

Instantly after seeing he was all right as he handed me my scarf I rounded on him. "Raoul de Chagney! Are you mad? What would possess you to do a thick thing like that! You could have been seriously hurt!"

To this he only grinned at my fanatics as he once again held out the cloth in terms of his answer, as if that would satisfy all my questions and concerns. With exasperation I gave in and turned my head after swiping the scarf from his hand into the face of the Count. His face was stern, stiffer than I had seen on the ride over and unlike his wife the ridges o his face were most like Philippe in the definiteness of the features. His hair, swooped behind a fine bowler cap, cane in hand he ruptured out in question to his youngest son. After all I imagine seeing the heir to a fortune such as his, lying on the grass with such a close bearing to a young girl, both of which were soaking wet, and if I was a one of those concerned fathers I would be in the same disposition.

"You will explain this." His voice was edgy and it was a command, not a question.

Raoul easily stood up, lightly brushing himself off, wringing the water from his shirts and scraping the water from his hair he faced his father triumphantly and simply. "The mademoiselle Daae misplaced her scarf you see father; I was only retrieving it sir."

The Count's gaze shifted from him to me and narrowed his eyes with an incredulous lift of the brow. Quickly I nodded my head in agreement, repercussions and all I accepted what fate may become of us and in my most mannerly acquisition told him, "It is the truth sir. I was foolish to have wandered so near the edge and was lost in thought, sir. Had it not been for my foolishness your son would not be in such a condition as I.

The Count listened with a quick eye and before I held another chance to defend my newfound friend held up his hand to silence me. My mouth tightened shut as if welded together and my hair stood up as rigid as ice. My entire being froze as the man looked to his son questioningly. They happening that shocked me the most however was when Raoul wrapped his arm about my shoulder with a smile towards his father.

"That's my 'Little Lottie,' always looking out for others rather than herself." Raoul replied with pride.

With one more lasting look the Count dismissed the matter with a knowing smile falling between the two males, I however was not in the know of such things. My confusion continued all through the ride back, Raoul's incessant smiling had not stopped and it appeared to have spread to the entire carriage; even the horseman who opened the door for me held a certain twinkle in his eye. It was as if they knew something I didn't.

Back at the estate Raoul and I had begun spending more time with each other. Over the past few days we had become quick friends and though it seemed that he truly liked me I just couldn't bring myself to treat him any differently of deny that fact. For no more than a reason to have someone with me that I though truly cared about me I allowed him to believe the feelings were mutual. Father had been administered to a doctor when we returned about his cough. It had been a day since then and still he had not revealed anything. He simply smiled at me every chance he received was so gentle in his speech and actions. I do not believe I had ever seen him act so, but I went ahead and accepted that perhaps he was fine. It was either that or he didn't wish for me to worry and always obeyed my father's wishes.

The weeks later however would not be so glad. Back upon arrival from yet another outing to the sea, father Daae's cough had gotten worse. Poor Christine tried to keep her mind free of such thoughts and found the journal her father had given her weeks past. He had said it was once her mother's, but that in her older youth had decided to give it to her daughter should she ever have one. Oh—how she had wanted one.

Christine hugged the book to her chest as frail tears ran down her neck. As she could hear the hacking coughs from the other room, she could also feel her heart breaking and that _fortunate_ soul within her—dying.

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Well, thus ends another chapter. I had to redo it to the best of my abilities because somehow it deleted and replaced itself, but here it is—better than nothing. Please read and review! You should know by now how much it means to me. Brightens my day ;D


	5. Twisted Remembrance

_A/N: We are arriving ever closer to moment you've all been waiting for... or has it just been me, when Erik and Christine meet! Anyways Read and enjoy! _

_Disclaimer: **Me:** "Through careful consideration I, the author, have come to the conclusion that I own nothing…" **Copyright critics from the back row:** "By Jove I think she's got it!"_

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**Chapter 5**

**Twisted Remembrance**

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"August 4, 1840 – first entry 

It is now the last day of summer and it could not have come at a worse time. Papa went last night. I suppose I had been fighting over my feelings of Raoul and pleasing Papa that my suspicions over a sickness had been pushed aside. Without him I am both alone emotionally and physically. It turns out the French shareholders who had earlier invested themselves in his musical talents had pulled out that night, once they heard about his recent 'departure' as Monsieur Chagney put it. I'm not sure why everyone thinks I don't understand what has happened. I know he won't wake up. It is as if after eight years, they still believe me a child. I—I'm not as hopeless as I seem.

To conclude now that I have orphaned myself, and our summer with the Chagney's now over, Monsieur Chagney at least attempted to keep my father's last wish for me. He had said I was going Paris. A "Prima Donna" Papa had said I would become, whatever that is. I'm writing this from the foot of the French underground waiting for someone. Along the outside of each of my luggage bags—which equals only two since debts needed to be paid—reads the words "Regarde! Mme. Giry, etre à Populaire"

_Raoul didn't come. He had stayed behind instead of wishing me farewell. His father was the only one to accompany me. He strictly told me that he had made plans for me and that I would accept them. He had said we may never meet paths again. I'm still not sure whether he meant that in such a vast world it would seem impossible for us to be able to see each other again or whether I was now dead to them. Shrunken out of even the lowly high class I was back to being pauper. I only wish that somewhere was my dual to whom I could escape into my other life every once and a while. But for now that dual has locked me away behind a mask, as was done to the fabled Musketeer's son who was hidden because of the Queen's double-heir birth. My other half lay ashamed of me._

Christine Marie Daae

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Finishing up her scrawl, she closed the book just as two headstrong footsteps marched their way towards her.

The shrewd woman stared down at the child questioningly for a few moments without reply. Sighing, the woman crouched down with a simple grace that even Christine had noticed. At first glance the woman may have seemed old and feeble, but she had already proven herself interesting. Christine slowly glanced upwards as the woman was getting testy.

"Well, are you or are you not the daughter of Gustave Daae?

Christine merely gazed out solemnly in thought, but the woman had no such time to lose and grabbed the girl up at once.

"I haven't time for a silly girl's petulance, now are you the child of Daae or not?" The woman circled her for a few moments before spotting the small bag behind her and in swiftly reading the tag nodded her head in registration.

"Come along and grab your things; it's a long way to the Opera House and we have many things to do. First we'll need to find you proper boarding of course and …" At the very mentioning of 'opera' Christine's eye's had already begun to enlighten. The woman's fingers rested on the outworn clothing the child wore before continuing. "…you'll need some new proper clothing as well."

Finding her voice, Christine could not hold back her excitement any longer. "_Excusez-moi_ Madame, but did you say 'opera'…as in The Opera Populaire?"

"Oui, the very same now if you will just…"

"…The grand opera in Paris?"

Yes—yes child, but Paris isn't coming any faster. We are but still in Rouen. We have a day's worth ride to where we're headed. My carriage is just beyond that corner. Your father made the arrangements before he past, so let's be off now."

Biting her lip at her very words the woman looked wearily upon the child whose rambunctious mood had turned despondent at the mentioning of her father. In attempting to correct the situation she once again crouched down with a smile before leading the child onwards. "My name is Madame Giry, by the way.

With a small growing smile the girl whispered back. "…Christine."

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Hunched over in pain over a small crate, a small boy gripped in anguish onto a large sack whose only decorum lay two empty holes for his eyes. The blood from his back had by now steamed up and dried, still the pain and memory was immense. The boy—Erik, had endured the residence of the, as Javert had falsely named it, _Le cirque des rêves: The circus of dreams_ for quite some time. Yet, for a month now it had been a nightmare and it had begun the same way each and every time, yet the most recent stood out in particular.

'_Dames et messieurs. J'invite vos yeux engager sur le "Devil's Child"'_

Just prior a few weeks Javert had begun introducing him, a small boy as the child of the devil. At first, wondering, curious eyes had faltered upon him. First in wonder and in pity, but it seemed that as a cruel joke Javert became willing to prove his 'hellish' existence by relinquishing Erik of the only article to keep him safe from the world. He still held a hated harboring for the world, but he feared it. Fueled by his passion of hate he only feared more. After all hate is only fear put to some good use. Still, he willed himself not to act as the confronted animal, for he did not fight.

'See how he broods ladies and gentlemen. Come—have a closer look at his ugliness. See how he—"

"Silence!" Erik was trembling out of holding his anger now, but he had enough.

Instantly the crowd's screams and the throwing of coins quieted. All eyes were on him. Javert himself froze as his 'prize' had never backlashed or defended himself in any way. After the shock, a certain fire began to grow in both Erik and his eyes. Javert's fingers inched back toward his side and drew out what appeared to be several strands of leather.

"I apologize ladies and gentlemen, but the show has now come to a close. I assure you will be refunded completely." Using his other hand to pull out from the pouch where he had collected the coins earlier, he handed back the money. As the crowd grumbled and snatched away their coins a small child, young and impressionable, had spied a lone sparkle from beside the cage. Slowly the child inched forward as the stark eyes of Erik were still present within sight. Coming close enough to touch, the child grasped hold of the gold coin and lifted up to face him. To Erik's surprise the child was only a small girl, barely the age of four. Her eyes shone despite the darkness and looking at him straight on, with a smile, she held it out to him.

In the back of his mind Erik longed to accept the simple gift, but the pain shooting from his back held him back. Unfortunately, just as he was going to shoo the child away, she held it out closer and smiled once again, showing the most adorable invisible buckteeth. His fingers shook forward and as they were inches away his eyes closed in pain as a loud screech exhaled from what could only be guessed as the child's mother.

"Stay away from my baby you demon! What would make wish to harm an innocent child! What kind of monster are you?"

Another 'customer' approached behind and in spying the coin barely interlocked in his fingers turned to Javert in accusation. "What kind of horror-house are you running where your own staff steals from its customers?"

Meanwhile behind the crowd that grew increasingly close to Javert the young child had once again found Erik. Intensely wising to relieve himself of the increasing weight and heat the coin was now providing he launched it towards her.

"Take it," he spoke in an almost hissing whisper, as if he was truly in pain.

Ignoring his plea the innocent girl simply reached her hand forward in what seemed to be an attempt to touch his face; Erik was too distraught to see until it was to late. The girl froze as in her childish affection she had removed the bag from him. Truly she only wished to thank him properly, after all her mother had taught her that in proper conversation, seeing someone's face was essential. Her face flushed and she stumbled backwards to fall with a thud. The eyes of horror that faced him did not even compare to what he felt now; she was dead.

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_**Well, Christine has finally entered the refuge of the Opera so things should begin to move along now. As for with Erik the little girl at the circus is my own rendition of the Gypsy girl from Kay's novel that removes his mask and dies from falling to her death. In a way similar and different, I thought it would react best if a young and innocent girl rather than a gypsy should be the victim. Now don't go calling me cruel, but it seemed to me that would give Erik more reason to not wish the young and innocent Christine who also showed him kindness to unmask him. Well the Erik and Christine meeting should either be in the next chapter or the one after that. I'm still hoping for reviews, so if you feel s compelled then please do allow me that simple generosity…after all…it won't kill you ;)**_

_**-MickeytheMouse-**_


	6. Musings

Disclaimer: Simply put... I own no characters except those not mentioned in either the novel, play, or movie. _(Such as Julia...)_ I do, however, own some plotlines, but most will have some direct influence from one of the_ 'Phantom'_ sources.

AN: Well, it took me awhile to finish this chapter, but I am pleased. School should begin in less than two more weeks ... so updates will be less, but I will still try my best to have them. _(Might I add...reviews help keep them going... wink-wink) _Now onto chapter six!

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**Chapter 6**

**Musings**

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Busily glancing over his cluttered desk to the clock, which rang at a five-minute delay to the hour, the man regretfully passed himself another stack of paperwork. His face grim and fully whiskered mustache twitching with anticipation seemed to only heighten his nerves. Limply and in recession to his work, he took up his pen, dipped and began scribbling away. His concentration broke with a persistent knock on his door. In shock the man nearly fell back in his chair when a lanky old man entered the doorway.

"Confounded, Willoughby! How many times must you do that in a day!" Red in the face and promptly retaining his dignity, the burly man laid his forehead into his jittering palms.

"Terribly sorry Monsieur Arnaud, sir. I did not mean it sir. I merely wished to tell you that the…" Flushing a bright red to match his superior, he unconsciously began loosening his collar as if air were far from him. " What…it is…the new girls are fitting in quite nicely…sir." Shifting his eyes forward and back to his left pocket his hand pressed what tiny lump there was further down into hiding before shifting his gaze once more.

For it had been known that Walter Willoughby, ever since he first arrived at the doorstep of a growing businessman by the name of Arnaud Lefevre had been an odd sort at that. From the first moment Arnaud had begun suspecting that the Parisian opera life was not well suited for the timorous young man. When the first beginnings of the opera house began he would be ignited with fright by even the slightest unusual movement. The first month it had been a few lose wires in the electrical lighting system. For at least in Arnaud's experience the light bulb was still quite the novelty and he had hired many workers to assist where he could not. Over the next months there were countless numbers of things to go awry and after the backdrops had several times dropped or swung violently on a single support the man had almost had it…that was until the building was complete and casting calls had started. Immediately the spineless man had turned from becoming a fearing, jittery fool to a helpless, love struck one. Her name had been Julia.

She was one of the first official ballet students the company had since its organization and she had led to many. Still, she was known as the most beautiful, especially in Walter's eyes. The infatuation grew stronger with each day. Every now and then Walter would leave the opera with a new trinket. Sometimes it was a scarf or a piece of set from the latest performance; for _Hannibal_ it was a misplaced shackle from the set storehouse, each was a reminder of her. Arnaud figured that what ever lay in his pocket could only be of similar attribute from another of the many dancers that roamed the stage.

Julia had since then left the stage of the opera to find more 'suitable' work as it may. She was a beginning of a new era, still early for her time. Women were not yet ready to accept self-government from the male race. She, like many others, were still dancers, lost in the rhythmic dance of indecent life. No, Paris was not ready for that yet, but her time would come. Times do change after all.

"Have you heard news from Antoinette yet, Willoughby? That 'duty' excuse she gave me earlier nearly made me choke her. The woman has really gone off into high grounds this time…_hem_…imagine me, the proprietor of the soon to be world renowned _Populaire_, taking orders from a ballet mistress."

Bumbling, the man called Willoughby interjected. "Well sir I'm sure that if physical intervention did come that you would be top notch and show her place, sir."

Laughing now to himself, Arnaud shook his head at the poor colleague. "You must not be fairly acquainted with her yet then. I myself have only had a few brief moments with her, but the woman holds her household tightly and she's a firm woman, that one." Merely muttering to himself he added, "Raising that child all on her own…it's a shame what the world comes to. Monsieur Giry was after all, a great man."

The two reached an awkward moment before each remembering their train of thought.

"So Willoughby, you said you inspected the girls…how many have been assembled?"

"Nearly ten sir."

Without lifting his eyes from the papers once again the man corrected the situation. "Not enough. The ballets of Berlin have nearly twenty girls and keep receiving in more students. We'll need at least two more to have even the slightest chance that half can be put to use. So would you go and tell Madame Giry that?"

"Yes sir. I will be sure to inform Madame Giry when she returns tomorrow afternoon—"

In mid stroke, the tip of Arnaud's feather scraped through the parchment and ink began bleeding everywhere as the man raised his head silently.

"Tomorrow? The ride from Paris to Rouen is but only four to five hours and the round trip would only take a day. Also, being she left early this morning she should have been back by now! It is nearly half past eight already. So what in the world do you mean 'when she returns tomorrow'?"

"I mean to say that her carriage won't arrive until tomorrow…that is, not today…which will be two days more from yesterday…and—"

"Oh cork it already! If she is not here now then who is out teaching the new girls for the next show in a few weeks?"

"No one, sir"

"Then why don't you find one of the experienced girls to prepare them?"

"They are all out, sir."

"Where to? I never received word that any of them would be going—"

"No sir. They are out cold, sir. It appears the drunkard Bouquet's stash has been raided again."

Filtering through to the next pile and disposing of the soiled paper the man sighed deeply. "No doubt by his own hand."

"So there is no man left to do it, sir," Willoughby replied.

Arnaud's eyes, brightening slyly, put their sights now on the trembling man in the doorway. Coolly calling him over, the stuttering man sat down in apprehension. Each time his superior smiled that way someone was most surely soon to be dead.

"Willoughby…"

"Oh please sir. Don't look at me like that. You know I hate it when you do that."

I believe I have found us a replacement teacher…yes, he _will_ do nicely indeed."

"Excuse me sir, but did you say _he_?"

"Why of course. You yourself said, 'there is no _man_ left to do it.' Well, one would need to have a replaceable reputation for the job, that is for sure."

"True sir, but I don't believe I'm aware of any one man crazy enough to do it."

"Ah, Willoughby, don't be so modest. I'm sure you will make a fabulous ballerina."

"Me, sir?"

"Yes…you. As in not me…as in the man in your mirror…and as in the man who will be fired if he doesn't dance his heart away."

Stunned and shaking all about he fearfully replied as he attempted to grasp hold a glass of water on the corner of the desk. Clumsily the glass was dropped and spilled over onto the fine Persian rugs only to have Willoughby on his hands and knees retrieving the glass and knock over another item on his way back to his feet. Apologizing frantically the man stumbled backwards fro the door and swiftly closed it with a bang. Needless to say, when the man left, Arnaud's office lay in ruins for the third time that month.

"I say; if this Opera is not the end of me, that man sure will be." And with that Arnaud once again piled a new stack onto his desk, dabbed the few damp papers from water and continued his work.

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Back within a carriage a few hours away from the outskirts of Paris the little girl called Christine had already fallen asleep. After the two had introduced themselves the one known as Giry led the girl and her parcels away to the carriage. For the whole trip the girl had not spoken a word since the moment the woman found her.

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"'_We are but still in Rouen. We have a day's worth ride to where we're headed. My carriage is just beyond that corner… My name is Madame Giry, by the way._

'…_Christine.'"_

_- _

'_Daae…'_ the woman thought to herself. _'Christine Daae.'_

Antoinette Giry had heard about such a man whose music was said to be angelic. His violin rested in between the child's arms as she slept… a memento, the woman guessed. Looking outwards to the darkening sky the woman sighed deeply in thought.

'_This girl has lost both her father and mother. I myself have lost a son…but my husband…'_

She wiped a growing tear from her face and turned again to the small girl. Slowly lifting away her coat as to not awake the child the older woman placed the piece of clothing about her. _'…So much loss…and she is only a child.'_

As the smooth sound of rumbling cobblestone suddenly turned more forceful, Christine slowly began to awake. First murmurs were heard and then colors slowly formed into shapes. The girl felt as if the weight in her head would cause rest to befall her again, but each time her brain tried it would be bounced back with the thuds coming from the carriage.

"Uhh…" The small girl's moan finally reached the ears of the woman beside her who had been arduously telling the driver to head down towards Freneuse, a small rural community a few miles away from the main road to Paris. The woman smiled back down at the child and reassuringly squeezed her arm.

"It is alright my child. We will soon be to a place where you may rest. I'm just visiting a friend is all. Now try to stay awake a bit longer… we are almost there."

Christine thought she must have only closed her eyes for a second before the carriage halted and the sounds of impatient horses could be heard. Regretfully, she pulled her week body out of the carriage and followed shortly nearby Madame Giry. To the child the rest seemed like a blur as what she could barely discern dream from memory. Flashes of a tall browned man opening the door, to hallways filled with stuffed tigers and elk appeared, as well as talking cats and pink elephants all swirling together in the same resonance. Then the morning appeared and the sun. The small girl brought herself back into whatever reality she was now in and was amazed at what she saw.

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Meanwhile downstairs an elder woman and man were both enjoying a small cup of coffee, each staring silently at each other until the man saw her swipe some bread from her plate and smother it with jam.

"It has been quite some time, Antoinette Giry. Here you come to me nearly two months ago this today with only a few words and a promise between you and me and now I find you here again with yet another child." The man gave an amused smirk before taking another sip. "We aren't harboring any more husbands now are we… hmm.. or perhaps some daughter you never told me about?" He jeered lightly at her and she playfully tagged along.

"Why Monsieur Khan, it is quite dreadful how you treat me, _old_ friend." At this she smiled through her cup as he did likewise. It had been years since Antoinette had been able to fully relax and be herself. The opera house had always demanded her attention, and though she enjoyed her work she had missed such simple afternoons as these.

"Old friend indeed… I believe Madame that I am not the married one with children however."

"Oh Nadir. You have no idea how long it seems to have been since I have seen you and yet you have not changed one bit. Your skin still as dark as the day I met you back in Persia, and your hair still as unruly as the day you rushed to my wedding. My dear Monsieur Khan, it is no wonder such men as yourselves do not receive invitations from women."

"Ah, but my dear Antoinette this is where you are wrong."

"Oh really, then do tell me what I have obviously mistaken about you?" she quickly deposited the remainder of the crust from her bread and let the cup of now empty coffee sit aside as she leaned forward in anticipation.

He chuckled lightly at the woman's manner and continued to prone her on. "Why… the simple fact that it is not that I do not attract the attention of women. On the contrary I have been able to swindle you into once again being my houseguest. Other than that I simply prefer the solitary life here. It's simple and relaxed, unlike those few years back when I was 'Daroga' Nadir Khan."

"Persian Chief of Police? You have not told me of this before."

"Alas, a part of my life I do wish to forget. Persia in those days was no 'Arabian Nights,' but you might say that there were indeed sorcerers."

"Oh please do tell. I'm sure your adventures were always quite fascinating!"

"No…no, they were more daunting than anything I wish to ever repeat. No… but, do tell me of this new surrogate daughter you have brought."

Antoinette languished in defeat and agreed to change of subject and smiled slightly as she conversed with him about the child.

" Her name is Christine Daae."

"As in relation to the violinist, Daae?"

"The very same. I received a letter from her father to what appeared a few days before his death concerning what he wished of his daughter's future."

Nadir strained to understand why such a letter would be sent to her… unless they had known each other in the past.

"You knew Gustave well then?" Antoinette shook her head lightly.

"On the contrary, I had never even once heard of the man until some of his work began coming into the opera a few months ago. I knew even less that he had a daughter."

Still bewildered Nadir carefully rounded the situation. His playful tone from earlier now turned delicate and contemplative.

"Then why accept his daughter into your care? Surely you don't believe this will redeem you of what you have lost?"

Madame Giry looked downward and her face turned pale. Without even her own knowing, the gentleman before her had revealed what she had fought against believing. She felt ashamed now, as if she was using the young girl for her own gain. She was about to sprout tears when the lightest touch appeared on her shoulder.

"There, there Antoinette. You have a good heart after all. The child may not be yours, but I'm sure you will be as good as any mother can be to her." Slowly he lifted her face to him and handed her an old rag from his pocket for her tears; she took it gratefully. "You did tell me she never knew her mother, correct?" The woman nodded. Smiling, the man turned her to face the stairwell, where upstairs the child was resting. "Then God has graced you with this gift so that you may show her a mother's love."

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Upstairs, Christine bolted up, her eyes wide and in shock before tumbling out of bed. Tiny laughter was heard and when Christine regained consciousness of where she was, her head turned upwards to meet her glassy brown eyes with a gleeful pair of blue ones. Stumbling back once again the entire figure of a young blonde girl hovered above her. Grinning from ear to ear Christine could tell she looked a few years younger than her, be that from her childish laugh or from the puffed out dimples and freckles that abounded her cheeks.

"Why, hello there!" The child chorused. "My name is Margaret Johannes Giry, but you can call me Meg!"

Christine groaned once again and lifted herself to reset the bed only to slowly trace her fingers over the arabesque designs upon it. Meg, in receiving no response continued to innocently hound her new playmate.

"I say, what's your name?" Silence once again followed, but young Meg did not give up. Instead she attempted a new outlet of conversation. "Well you must have a name… everyone does. Even the composer Berlioz has a name, even though not many people have heard of him at the _Populaire_."

Growing very riled with the young child Christine gritted her teeth and barked back. "What would you ever know about Louis Hectlor Berlioz? You are just an annoying little girl who has snuck in my room unnanounced and speaks as if she knows _everything_ about music when she's only five years old!"

The girl, Meg grinned at her workmanship and proundly corrected her. "Actually I'm only annoying to those who are already so, and the composer's name is not 'Hectlor,' it's Hector. Also I'm turning eight in three months so I'm definetely older than five."

Stunned Christine gazed up to look into Meg's eyes and questioningly asked, "Still…what makes you know so much about music…even if you are seven?"

Relaxing, now that the two had calmed down, Meg simply told her the truth.

"I learned all I know from my mother, naturally. She does work at the Parisian Opera House, _Populaire_ after all."

"So, then, she was not a dream … your mother… she's the one who brought me here, isn't she?"

"She is indeed! We have all been waiting for you to wake up for some time now, all three of us."

Christine looked at Meg curiously. "'Three of us?'"

"Oui! Me, ma Mere, and 'The Persian.'"

"The Persian?" Christine questioned. She had noticed the fabrics hung all around her room seemed far too ornate even for Paris, but Persia?

"Well… only I call him that. Don't tell Mama though… she thinks it is disrespectful. His real name is Monsieur Khan and I've been staying here for a few months now while Mama has been in Paris working. She said that you and me are coming back with her after you woke up to live there! Isn't that _l'absolu ultime_"

Christine's eyes glistened as a fleeting memory passed through her mind.

-

'"_Papa?" a little girl no more than the age of five asked her father. "Why must I have these music lessons? I would much rather go out and play with Pauli."_

"_Well, my little bumblebee, when my daughter grows up I want the whole world to hear of her genius musical talents."_

"_But, Papa…I can barely sing a few chords, my tune is off, and my piano playing is dreadful!"_

"_Hush now. Don't be so critical of yourself. This is why you must practice…to get better."_

"_But I've never heard you practice and already you're the best violinist and composer I've ever had as a father!"_

_The younger looking Gustave Daae lightly tackled his only daughter into an embrace as she snuggled into it._

"_Now stop being so silly Christine…I have high plans for you. Here you only have a limited life to live. I may have been able to support you by coming into new money status, but I want even more for you. I want you to learn under the most skilled musicians and artists of Paris. Perhaps one day I'll even get to see my little girl performing in an opera…can you imagine doing that Christine? You'd be the 'Prima Donna' of song!"_

"_But Papa…even you know it's not right for me to sing in public…I… wouldn't want to_ _sham_ _you!_

_The man smiled slightly. "That would be 'shame,' Christine, not 'sham.'"_

"_See!" The small child cried indignantly. "I can't even talk right!" Then the child looked up to face her father and in a fleeting rising of her lips and hugged him tightly. "But… if I did, Papa…I'd only want to sing for you. Perhaps that's what I'll do if I ever do go to Paris."_

_With that the child fell asleep in her father's arms and as he carried her off to bed and tucked the sheets around her the child heard the slightest whisper and kiss upon her cheek. _

"_Perhaps, Christine…perhaps."_

_-_

Meg waved her hands frantically in front of the zoned out Christine in attempts of awakening her. "Hey are you alright in there? You blanked out on me there for a second."

Christine blushed slightly and finally smiled up at the girl. "My name is Christine Daae."

Meg giggled once more. "I know that…I just liked ebbing you on like that. Sorry all the same though… friends?"

Christine nodded and replied, "Friends."

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Monsieur Lefevre paced impatiently across the stage while those around him backed away as he had in the past few hours begun lashing out at anyone. The courageous ones had been the stage management crew. Despite the set backs, they continued to polish up the remaining coats of paint and fabrics to the set designs. Some from behind stage were storing away the gloss for the newly polished marble flooring and with each foot plod the fidgeting ballet girls were being fitted.

Monsieur Reyer, the musical maestro who had fortunately joined the recruits of the Opera House only a year into its consumption, had over the years held an eye for detail…but his choice for the new season's opera to be Mozart's, _Idomeneo_ held a few doubts in some 'unspoken individual's' eyes. Originally italian, the piece was nearing a century in age and to introduce the new season with a timeworn 'three-act' had caused much bustle in the inner vestubules of the theater. Still, Reyer stood tall with his waning hairline fluffed up into curls and with baton in hand.

Swiftly calling out the small number of chorus girls onto the stage the old man attempted to rehearse. He may have wished for his own office or even his own practice facility…but then again, Reyer may have wished for a many a things and instantly received them—still he did not ask. He was a valuable asset to the company and would thus be doted upon, but all Monsieur Reyer ever wanted in the world was…

"Silence!" Reyer quickly quieted down the growing noise from the room faster than even the Manager had time to notice that the tempo of the atmosphere had grown calmer. Readjusting his specs he continued on. "From the middle of the first act demoiselles, s'il vous plait."

From the darkness a tall and slender girl appeared center stage. Dressed markedly so as to stand out from among the low lights, she began her lines. "Llia, thou art lovely and fate dawns you to rise on Crete… but I shall hang before I see you betrothed to thine Idomeneo." Her coloratura voice, though filled with a dragging emotion, lacked as Monseiur Reyer duely noted.

"Non—non Mademoiselle. Vous exécution est mauvais! Electra is not pensive…she is anguished! She is fearing that the Trojan, Llia will soon be Queen of Crete. Do try for that emotion next time. Now begin again."

"…I _shall_ hang before I see you betrothed, to thine Idomeneo! Troy may worship thy feet, but I shall not succumb!" Falling to her knees the woman braced her fists to her neck and quirked her head as if hearing voices. Clasping her ears before singing out in torment she let her dramatic coloratura song shine. "Why must Hades torment me? What kind of death is this…to live and keep on dy—ing! Idomeneo… Idomeneo…why has fate betrayed us?"

Ending her line and turning her face back to Monsieur Reyer, he gave her a quick nod with a look of satisfaction upon his face. Despite the current working conditions the opera was coming along right with schedule.

As practice continued it came time for the ballet girls to come on stage. Monsieur Reyer quietly began up the orgestra and with the Manager watching near his side the looks they exchanged between each other were evident.

"The girls are unpracticed, Arnaud. Where is Giry…has she not been teaching them? Even the senior ballet girls are not as up to par as last season!" Monsieur Reyer boomed back behind him. His baton slacked down to his sides and the orgestra haulted playing and the dancers also stopped.

Monsieur Arnaud Lefevre suddenly grew rigid as he yelled back; "I haven't the slightest clue where _that_ woman is! She has not been seen for several days…so don't go blaming me for that woman's—"

"—Promptness," a woman from the back finished. It had been at that very moment of accusation that the woman, Madame Giry strolled casually back into the opera house. Beside her stood her small child, several traveling cases, and a timorous young girl behind her form.

Arnaud's eyes blazed as he stormed over to the 'contemptible' woman. "Giry! You told me you were to be gone for only a short while, not days! You said it was duty now what 'duty' was that _Madame_!"

Antoinette stood stable as the accusations faced her. Little Meg quietly tugged on her fingers and the mother gave them a tight squeeze. Slowly the manager began to notice the tiny company surrounding the woman and backed a few steps and swiftly apologized.

"My apologizes young Giry, I was not aware of your presence here."

The child looked at the man curiously before responding, "…I was here the whole time."

A few stagehands from the back had heard the child exposing Arnaud to his mistake and snickered amongst themselves.

"Well…" Growing nervous under the elder woman's gaze Arnaud struggled to find his tongue. "I see you have finally brought young Margaret after Monsieur Reyer's many years of waiting." Meg stuck her tongue out at the back of the man's head with the mention of her real name and swiftly received a slap on the hand from her mother. "…She will be wanting to join the ballet of course! She may be merely seven years of age and a bit young…but as a Giry I can see she will do no less than your best."

The woman nodded and opened her mouth to bring up the certain matter that had been shrinking into her woolen coat ever since arrival, but was interrupted.

"Here, come, your daughter will need a room and a place of quartering. Of course she will start as a new ballet intern tomorrow and…"

Meg's mother called her to come along with her and delicately beckoned Christine to stay put while she handled some company and personal business. Christine interestingly enough complied as she had just noticed the opera's brilliance and began poking around. Unnoticed to most everyone else one pair of eyes behind golden spectacles had his eye on the girl inquisitively.

"Madame Giry I have already told you that your daughter shall be given a well prepared room with the others and such, but I don't see why a small girl would need two rooms."

"Monsieur Lefevre I am not speaking of another room for my daughter I am speaking of—"

"Well then for yourself then? Well I shall have to talk it over with the contractors…I mean we could just expand your office…but if another room is what you want then…"

Madame Giry once again controlling her child's rolling of the eyes as well as her own went over to the babbling man and as a last resort shook him into sense.

"Arnaud! I'm talking about Christine!"

"Christine? Whom is this girl you speak of?"

"The orphan of your newest patron…or was patron."

The man shook his head incredulously at the woman. "Well she can't stay here if that is what you are thinking!"

"And why ever not?" she replied smartly.

Before the man could retort back she quirked back in, "You are, after all, short one ballet ingénue are you not?"

Caught, Arnaud's moth gaped slightly. "Be that as it may she has no way of payment…we are not running a charity here Giry!"

"I am quite aware we are not Lefevre. But she holds the promise of her father as my daughter does of me. Isn't that why you inducted her so quickly?"

"My mind cannot be changed…"

-

Christine's curiosity had begun getting even further the better of her as her fingers began grasping at a few wooden drawers finding something of interest.

"Why…this is—" Christine's eyes glistened at the item of paper in her hand as she finally became aware of a presence behind her.

"Find something of interest, mademoiselle?" Monsieur Reyer quirked is eye at the young child as she blushed deeply before handing the pile of papers to the man.

"It's my father's."

Reyer grew curious and looked down the line of intricately formed notes and patterns for either a publisher or composer. The sole name he found was in small cursive lettering at the bottom: _Gustave E. Daae_.

"Your father is Gustave Daae…the violinist composer I have heard so much about?"

Christine looked down and redirected her eyes shyly. "He was…"

Grabbing his baton in hand along with the sheet music he beckoned the child to follow him.

"Go right up there to center stage please."

"I'm sorry sir, but for what reason?"

"You are his daughter correct…well then... if this is his composed work then he must have practiced with you…it is in a soprano key."

"Oh, but sir, I really couldn't…"

"Silence. You will go out there and sing for me or you will leave your snooping to the concierge!"

"…D'accord…" Slowly she took stage and began to sing, starting out soft and gaining volume.

After finishing her sweet song she blushed towards him and attempted to correct her faults. "I admit I'm not very good…"

"You are greater than I expected for your age… how old are you?"

"I turn eight in a few weeks."

"Excellent…" Monsieur Reyer smirked to himself. _'With some training she may be the youngest Prima Donna in Parisian history.'_

"Go tell Madame Giry and Monsieur Lefevre you will be staying with the ballet girls tonight…_'and every night after that…we have found our last ingénue_.'"

Meg called out to Christine as the young child found her brand new family and ran straight up to them.

Soon the girls were chattering endlessly and the one conversation that struck in the girl's mind all that night was a scandalous one.

-

'"_So the ballet girls are going on a excursion tomorrow and all the new girls are invited…want to come with me?"_

"_Is your mother coming?"_

"_Of course not! She'd kill me if she knew I was going and dragging you along!"_

"_Where are we going that could be so bad?"_

_Meg grinned mysteriously, "The circus."'_

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**Well I did say that the Erik and Christine meeting might happen in this chapter or the next and it looks like it should be in the next edition, most definitely. As to the phrase "_l'absolu ultime_" I couldn't resist placing in my favorite line from _Gidget _("Honest to goodness it's the absolute ultimate!" –Gidget, 1959), en français of course! ;)**

**-- The opera, _Idomeneo_, is a real Italian opera and although the lines used are made up, as I have no knowledge of the actual piece, they were created on the basis of summaries from Wikipedia on each act. --**

**I hope everyone enjoyed this LONG chapter! It took me a while to wrkite it so I would appreciate greately if you would review. No matter what you have to say, I would love to hear it!**

_Vous exécution est mauvais!_ Your performance is wrong!

_dramatic coloratura_ …very high singing soprano who holds well rounded range and ability to hold notes for extended periods of time (see Wikipedia for more info)

**MickeytheMouse**


	7. Déjà Vous Part I

Disclaimer: I tip my hat the those authors I've told -- you before that I simply do not own. But if once again, You need reminding my friend -- it is thus the Phantom I must disown. (don't worry .. I'll try not to cry.. )

A/N: Yes, it HAS been a while.. but stay patient.. I do have a BUNCH of schoolwork, senior projects, and college to worry about on top of having a life. So give me some encouraging feedback if you'd like more updates. Those always inspire me!!

Also I am still squealing in excitement that I am going to see the original Lon Chaney 1925 film of Phantom of the Opera. It's taking place in our locally famous theatre that in my book is as richly decorated as the Garnier (or Populaire, how ever you want to look at it). This is because it was built in the 1920's. Anyways there is going to be a live organist and everything and on Halloween night too!! I am just too excited. So obviously you can expect some sparks of inspiration to come from there. Anyways this is part one of this chapter and the next part should be coming soon. You've got to hold me to that though. :) On a different note fanfiction . net still hasn't fixed the problem of breaks in text caused by pressing the "enter" key. I'm geting really tired of placing a - in here all the time.. oh well...

Also, a HUGE _merci beaucoup_ to my two reviewers for the 5th and 6th chapters Amita and Guardian of Elements !!

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**Chapter 7**

**_Déjà Vous - Part I_**

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It seemed that not a moment since my weary eyes found rest, the cool air awoke me once again. My eyes wandered around every corner of what most would call a dingy compartment, especially in comparison to what I was used to. Still, in a strange sort of way it was quite charming. Yes, despite the rude clanging of who knows what in the night and the stench of aged wool, it was quite charming indeed. A few candles around me were lit already and a few shadows were swiftly, but quietly, moving about. The resistant portion of my brain screamed to recover myself with the woolen sheets and allow myself rest until morning, but that was several hours away. The girls had already filed out after nearly three hours after curfew, Meg being one of them.

My head spinned when it was raised, but as the buzzing calmed, I remembered "the circus."

Back at the château I had head such stories that revolved around a large tent and other such delights, so naturally I was quite anxious. I carefully lifted myself up and paused almost at instinct before my head encountered the top bunk. I had, after all, not done so many times in the last few hours. Giving a heavy sigh I grasped the edge of the bed as a lifeline and lifted myself to stand. The candles allowed me to spot corners slightly, but it was a real task attempting to walk without the aid of a crutch to fall back on.

Variably, I took one step, and then another. It both excited and terrified me to the core, this lawlessness I was committing. Though I doubted prison would be the punishment for it, the reprimanding from Mme. Giry would be enough. Shuffling on I whispered lightly to myself, "_Ce ne qui tue pas rend plus fort_." I shook my head; whether it was true or not I knew pain would ensue if I were to be caught, never mind the others.

The night before Mme. Giry had dropped by the room we slept in. I came aware that this was a regular occurrence by the way she calmly strolled in without a sound; 'such the ballerina,' I thought. Her eyes seemed to glow in the darkness as she moved over each girl's bed before stopping over Meg's. With the others, even in sleep, the watch was fastidious as she straightened covers and pulled stray legs as well as arms back into beds with the shake of her head. Yet, while she loomed over Meg her finger did not itch to their scolding manner as they had done that morning in practice; they were soothing as they stroked her cheek.

Her manner remained that was when she finally came to me, and with a pinch of her finger dimmed my candle.

Just like that night, my clothes for the next morning had already been set out. To one side lay my practicing uniform, the other a light blouse with growing frays and worn cotton skirt. Grabbing the two quickly I bypassed the doorway and forced myself to the wall right outside. I had made it passed the first barrier. As quietly as possible I took off my nightgown, carefully checking that no peeking stagehands were lurking about. When my skirt was about midway to my knees I heard a shuffle behind me. Embarrassingly, my hands grabbed up the underside of the skirt as my head slowly its way to face a small gray mouse. Thankfully it seemed I had not made much noise and shooing the little beast away I finished dressing and reached the stairwell.

There, I saw Meg pattering frantically about the foyer. When our eyes beheld each other, I immediately saw her mother in her. She crossed her arms and shook her hear before she, in a half whisper, half hiss, called out to me. "What took you so long Christine? They about left us, you know. Come on!"

Hurryingly we ran out and met up with the others. Once my face glistened with the moonlight my mouth agape. I had lived among the French countryside all my life, and never had I seen such beauty in what Paris at night showed me. Sure, there were fewer stars to be seen, but each side street with its lamps yet to be put out created a whole new beauty to it. The older girls saw my wonder and scoffed at it. I figured that after a while beauty only becomes a recognizable sensation, something normal. I vowed right then to never grow tired of beauty and to never judge it.

Little less than an hour's walk and the glum, exhausted faces of the ballet brightened and some even clamored hurriedly down the cobblestone, forgetting their vow of silence. I closed my eyes once more picturing the circus as I had always dreamed it would be, but when I opened my eyes to find the dreary sight before my legs wobbled to a halt. There was no laughter about this place to me. A certain wind blew past me at that moment and like a silent scream finally being heard my eyes narrowed immediately and my fists clenched. For what ever reason I did not like this place and my situation one bit.

There were only gypsies here.

"Let's go back Meg. I—I'm not really up this after all. Perhaps I—"

"Perhaps you—are just a whining baby. Now c'mon, suck it up! How many times have you ever been to a fair before? I've been in this 'little' town my _whole_ life, and I've never been. I've heard it's really _un bon temps!_ _Pleeease Christine... don't hold out on me now!"_

After moments of starring aimlessly at the woven fibers of my shoes and contemplating the meaning of life, Meg's curious gaze brought me out of my stupor.

"Alright… I'll go." To myself I whispered, "I won't like it though."

It all felt worth the sickness in my stomach to see my newfound friend grin. She grabbed her hand in mine and dragged me along. The others had long gone behind a large decaying tent that made me divert my eyes and for some reason grab my chest in pain.

Meg glanced over at me curiously.

Waving my hand as if to pass off the need for any concern, I pushed the quaking feeling in my chest down and took her hand. Together we started walking and even _my_ anticipation grew as we neared the slight echo of music. The coolness of the ground began to warm as we closed in on the heart of the gypsy fair. Then—just as we reached the pinnacle, the vibrant music stopped and the blazing fire lowered its light.

Man and woman and child who had been dancing around a huge fire, tambourine in hand, had filed out. All around, the clamor of voices signaled to everyone the main show was about to begin. Softly, a gristly old man began playing what looked like a small wooden flute with only two open airways. The sound was nothing less than eerie. Then a rhythmic drumming sounded, pacing the elaborate dancers as they slid once more into view. The clanging of bells was gone from their attire and the moved silently. Even Meg's eye was caught by such strange beauty and allure to their dance. It was rhythmic, smooth and alive, but saddened and stiff. One by one the dancers with their faces downcast performed what many would call magic as before our eyes different men and women appeared right among the crowd and walked forward to continue the dance. From across my view of the flame a large man, lean and towering what seemed four feet above the highest among the crowd appeared. From another portion of the crowd came the tiniest woman I believe I had ever seen. More and more appeared and I suspected there was one representative for each of the tents and shows among the fair. Still, one tent had been left unaccounted for

Scoffing at the show, and yet inwardly amused, I began to walk away from the spectacle when my path was stopped again, like with Raoul, only that time the haunting tune of a lone whistle did not draw my eyes upward instead of stubbornness. The instant we locked eyes I let loose a gasp as many others did, only I had done such for a different reason. Across what I could tell from the fire's glow an onyx mask covered his whole face, but all I could see were his golden eyes. They were fiery, and yet not with passion but a cold strength that hitched the breath within me. Claps from the dancers began as the dance came forth with life again. I was hardly aware that the boy before me was moving, even as he presented me with a rose and walked past me without a second look. He stood next to the fire and through the slow, enthralling movements, it seemed that he was the now the wielder of the music. I did not see what happened after that moment with the rose. I was still stiff and gripping the rose even after the music slowed. I Only become aware of what had happened when the strange added dancers went back among the places in the crowd, the boy with the mask, being the last. Standing just inches before my face in the last split moments he lunged forward and all I knew after that was a strange wetness on my lips and a warmth to my face I had never felt before. I couldnot say I disliked it, but nor could I say I enjoyed it. The event shocked me, but the warmth from my face would not die down. I did not know whom lay behind the mask, nor did he know the girl behind the sheepish expression, but he had kissed me. I knew better than to delve into the matter of 'the kiss,' after all—they were only gypsies weren't they? The pounding in my ears spoke otherwise.

The bonfire blazed normally again once more and footsteps of lanterns guided pathways back to the main roads. Meg found me again and we left together along with the many other ballet girls who had found their way out. All that remained on the site were a few glistening stars that only caused the girls around me to chatter more. I even once thought I saw the illuminated shadow of a certain Persian man watching our every move, but when I turned there was nothing. There was only the wisp of the opening flap to "Le Cirque de Horreur," and I turned my head quickly from that sight, not wishing to think of what lay within it. Instead I focused in on the wetness that still fell on my lips.

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_Ce ne qui tue pas rend plus fort ... _What does not kill you, makes you stronger

_un bon temps_ ... a good time


	8. Déjà Vous Part II

_A/N: Good Evening! I velcome you to de Phantom of de Opera. At dis time I vould like to thank my reviewer, "S.A.M." for de last chapter… you vill ever see! Muhha-haa-hah! Ha—I mean vor chapter seven, of course.. Do not mind de man behind de curtain. Now— look into my eyes. You are getting very sleepy… but not so vuch as to not be able to review. Yes—Yes. You will review…You will review! Now, ven I count to Dree. Von. Du. Dree. … … No, Vait! Where are you going? Come back, come back... I promise I'll put away the Halloween costume. Please!!! Oh well, back to my little mouse hole. I would like a review though. ;)_

_Disclaimer: I don't own the Phantom, nor his counterparts or egos... there may be a few plot trails and character that I do, but that's it._

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**Chapter 7 **

**Déjà Vous Part II**

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The room was silent for a few moments before a pestering knock hampered on the doorway. Struggling at first the woman within grumbled incoherently as if to say she was coming. She swung the door open slowly and was burst back by the force of entrance back into her small cot of a bed. She did not scream however, she saw no reason to for even as the man paced back and forth angrily in the darkness Madame Giry knew exactly whom she was dealing with. Thus she struck a match to candle and began her interrogation.

"Nadir Khan. What in heaven's name do you think you are doing? What hour is it and what do you want? I'd rather make this short because I have rehearsal with—"

"Disregard rehearsal Madame, I simply do not wish to hear it. I have just been out all night chasing your girls from here to Amsterdam and you are going to listen to me!"

"Since when do you order me around Nadir I—wait… what about my girls?"

"They've been out tonight. They can't of just gotten in but a few hours ago."

"And exactly where have they been this night my friend?"

"Le Cirque. The wagons arrived last night. It's been awhile since they last came, do you remember? It's been almost eight years and I don't need to remind you of what occurred then. No—you least of all need reminding."

Madame Giry grew stiff with each word and tremblingly, even for a grown woman and sputtered out, "Well for what reason have they returned? I never thought that they would come back after—it's been so long after all."

She paused for a moment, a look of sheer terror written on her face with a mixture of guilt before raising her head again to the towering man before her. "What do you know?"

He simply replied stoically, "He lives."

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"Christine…" Meg gently nudged the form of Christine whose head was wedged deeply under the covers. "Christine get up… we've got to go to rehearsal."

"Nuhh… not now Meg. _Yawn_. Wake me in ten hours."

"Come on Christine you can't stay in bed all day. Now don't make me tell you again."

"Well it can't be more than 6:30 in the morning… so leave me be Meg. I'll even settle for five more minutes."

"No Christine, we have to go now."

No murmurs came from Christine and it seemed she had fallen back asleep.

"Christine Daae, get your butt up before I have to make it!"

Finally giving in Christine moaned and fell out of bed and gathered her clothes and followed Meg too the stage. "All right—all right. Just lead the way… I'm still feeling a bit unconscious."

The two girls finally made their way to the stage to find the corps de ballet standing about with no _Madame_ to speak of. The instant they spied Meg they rushed over to her and clamored her with questions.

"_Little Giry_, where's your mother?" one asked.

"Yes, we've been looking everywhere! We even asked Monsieur Willoughby if he had seen her."

"Yes and the fool chattered away frantically yelling to the Manager. It was quite amusing wasn't it?"

All the girls giggled and continued laughing to themselves, but Meg was still dumbstruck.

"You mean she's not here?" Meg asked. Christine went beside Meg and laid a comforting hand on her shoulder but it was shook off. "Well where is she?"

The girls chirped together, "Haven't a clue." Then they continued bustling about, some doing their stretches, some going off to find Joseph, while still others just headed back to the dormitories.

Meg faltered for a moment then she grabbed Christine by the arm and yanked her off away from the stage. "Come on Christine!"

"Woah! Hey, Meg where are we going?"

The determined girl didn't even mind to look at Christine before responding, "To see Monsieur Arnaud."

"The Manager? But why?"

Meg stopped mid stride and starred at Christine in disbelief. "You heard what those dense ballet rats said—"

"Umm Meg…"

"What!" Meg's face was pushing to the point of red and she glared heatedly at Christine, at the moment wiling to take on a Daisy if it looked at her funny.

"…Um… you're a ballet—"

"I know that." She sighed heavily before answering Christine calmly. "I know. But if they don't care enough to find out where she is then I will."

"Well, I'm pretty sure she's fine Meg… wherever she is."

"But she's never left without saying a word to anyone. The last time was over the grief of Gerald Giry and I won't see that happen again!"

"Gerald? She had a brother?"

Meg glanced back with a silent calm, as if for that moment she was devoid of consciousness. "No…he was my father."

"Your wha—?"

"—Come on! Stop blabbing… we're here."

The small girls gave three knock at the office door before the sounds of crashes, yelling and finally the turn of a knob greeted the two with the face of Monsieur Willoughby.

"Little Giry? Daae? What are you—"

Meg dragged Christine hurriedly past the man and threw herself at the desk of an oblivious Arnaud, starring at him with an evil glint in her eyes.

"Where is she? I know you of all people should know."

The man rubbed his visage wearily before taking the wiregrass frame spectacle from his tired eyes. He had already dealt the overflowing amount of Patrons and supposed Divas trampling on him to open the newest show. The Patrons demanding entrance with thud after thud of iron tipped canes and wallets, the women through voice and sometimes screeches. Now with his own ballet yelling at him, he knew that today was just not a good one.

"Where is whom…young Giry?"

"My mother."

"Is she not at practice?"

"Do you think I would be here asking is she was?"

Arnaud's eyes rose with the snappiness of the young child and leaned back in his chair to watch Christine out of fright calm the girl and attempt to speak for her.

"What Meg means, Monsieur is that no one in the Opera seems to be able to find Madame Giry and we came to you to ask if you knew."

Anaud whispered lightly to himself, 'Oh if I even tried to keep up with Antoinette, it would be the end of me before I could even start.'

Smiling he thought up what seemed to him to be a reasonable answer. "Calm down Mam'selles. She's out this morning. Now she didn't tell me where, but she'll be back I assure you. And now if you will… run along, as it seems you have no instructor I hereby give you two the day off. Go…have fun… or what ever it is kids do these days."

Sighing and giving up defeat Meg and Christine ambled out of the office and began the most tedious task of their day.

"So what do you want to do?"

"I don't know; what do you want to do?"

"I don't know. What do you want to do?"

"We could always go by and see Joseph. He always has wild stories to tell."

Christine shivered at the though and replied, "No, he always gives me the creeps when he spies down on us during practice. Hey… I've got an idea. We could always go—"

"Nah. I don't think so."

"Meg! You didn't even wait to hear what I had to say. I may not know this opera house yet, but I'm sure I can think of something to do!"

"That's just it Christine—you're still new here. It's barely been a week and none of us really know you." Meg stopped and her eyes glistened in excitement before she took Christine by the arm once more and dragged her down the hallways and towards the stairs that led to the roof.

"Ahhh… not again… Meg!"

The two finally stopped and found the afternoon air to be crisp, but tolerable. Christine huffed in breaths deeply as Meg, whom was also running short on breath, led her over to the _statue du Commandeur _and to sit at its base.

"Christine…" Meg fidgeted nervously under both Christine and the marble's gaze. "Christine I consider you my friend… and because of that, well— I have to ask you honestly why you are here."

Meg cringed at the thought of the words after they had left her mouth, but there had been so many rumors. She wanted to know the truth for herself.

"I'm sorry if I'm being blunt, but well… I don't really know much about you."

Christine smiled warmly down at her sole friend. "And neither do I you. Is that why you brought me up here… to talk?"

"Yeah. It's been my favorite spot since Maman brought me here when I was little. It was always a place to think before and after practices. I came here originally because of my father you know. My mother didn't drag me here—but I'm sure she's happy about it now." Meg glanced up and looked up at Christine with sad eyes. "I guess we're alike in that way. Both our father's brought us here."

"Meg—did you always want to be a dancer? I mean… why that and not singing. I've heard you before and it's quite lovely—your voice is."

"Well it may not be as good as some but it _is_ dancing that I've always loved. In fact I can't remember a time without it. My father you see held a great passion for ballet. That's how he met Maman. She told me that as a young ballerina he would always come to see her at every performance. He left her love notes by morning and fluttered kisses to her from the crowd after each opening night. It was he that first taught me to dance as well."

She sighed deeply and looked off into the sky to see the early moon brightening the sky along with the many Parisian lights.

"To me… it's just a way to remember him by. Like when I'm out there on the stage he's still here and blowing kisses onto my cheek. Like he's still right beside me telling me to lift my leg a bit higher or that my jumps need work and more passion."

The two girls looked at each other for a moment before Christine timidly spoke.

"What… exactly happened?"

"It's funny really. I'm not even sure. All I remember was one day he didn't come to the performances and Maman started taking the ballet mistress position. I think it may be her way of remembering too." There was a pause between the two before Meg jokingly piped up. "What about you Christine? It's true you're in the ballet too, but it's obvious at times that you are not always into it. So tell me… what are you here for? Surely it can't be to study ballet… or at least not just that."

Silence whipped past for a time and Meg begin to regret asking, but right as she set herself up to apologize Christine found her voice.

"Mon pere. It was his wish for me to come here."

"His wish?"

"He—he was a musician. He loved the violin."

Meg noticed the saddened expression and scooted closer and put a comforting hand on the small girl's lap. "Go on."

"We used to sing together. He'd compose and I'd sing. For a while it was how we got around after—after she died. We'd stop from town to town and offer our music. Paris was the second to take him in. Before, he had a position in Italy and after a while it became too much. We were separated too much and after moving back to France and after my father gained a good standing in society. We went to live with a Countess until Monsieur Arnaud offered a job closer to home and where I could be near him."

"He sounds like he loved you dearly, Christine." Her eyes comforting and warm, smiled.

"Yeah… Well I am here to originally be in the chorus. He always told me how he wanted to see the day I walked up on the stage of Paris, a diva."

"A chorus girl? Well for heaven's sake if that's the case why aren't you in their group?"

Christine trembled and barely choked out her next words. "I can't…. not without him. I—I just can't"

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**I really hope you enjoyed it. There's one last part to this chapter, so it should be coming up soon. After that we'll be done with all the flashbacking and precursor story telling and we can start rolling on with the real story line. You know… that "sappy romance stuff." Ohh. Now don't lie. I know at least some of you have been awaiting it. **

**Well, now that you've read I love a nice review. Long or short, I love 'em!**

_"statue du Commandeur" _Statue of the Commander. It's an actual famous French statue by Molière and ironically the very one used for his production of "Don Juan." And honestly I decided to use it before I found this out. Eerie, huh.

**MickeytheMouse**


	9. The Dream of the Lost Child

A/N: I'd like to thank the time now to think all my lovely readers as well as my reviewer for the last chapter, "gold4roses."

_Disclaimer: I don't own the world or some of the 'copyrighted' characters… even some of the plot. I do, however, own a copy of the novel, the DVD, and a nice full plate of cheese over here. Let's see there's Brie, Colby Jack, Camembert… oh—would you like some?_

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**_Chapter 8_**

**_Le Rêve de L'Enfant Perdu: _**

**_The Dream of the Lost Child _**

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_The night had settled in, and colors flashed in the mind. Voices whispered all around and could not be understood. A thousand tongues spoke at once and colors flashed: black, white, and red. In the darkness a small child whose face was never known stood alone under a light with its only source towards heaven, but the child did not see the light and path it lit for her to follow, thus she stumbled and fell._

_At times the feeling of warmth and strong arms were felt and the child swung around to nothingness. In the distance a bell tolled and the girl looked over to it. It was close but seemed farther in each attempt to reach it._

_Suddenly the voices stopped but one, which called, 'follow the path.' The girl looked again but could not see what the light shone upon. The voice spoke again, 'follow the path,' but the girl cried out that she could not see it. The light dimmed._

_Now the church bells rang once more and the silhouette of the church seemed to glow, but the darkness around her thickened. Cynical laughter whipped about her hair and cornered her from behind. One skeleton of an arm reached out for her, but she screamed to find the laughter heightening. The girl huddled and attempted to panic, but heard that same, fatherly voice speak again. 'Follow the light.' The child saw the church as the only object ahead of her and ran to it. This time the travel seemed like a mere footstep and the child locked herself inside._

_The darkness seemed quiet for a moment, but then the faint sound of cries echoed about the small room. The 'echo' of Christine clamored through the pews, but could not trace the location of the cries. Coming up to a window she spied a small, huddled body, like the shape of a young boy crying by the graveyard. Not giving a single thought otherwise the girl sped out from the safety of the church to the boy's side._

_She came up close upon him now and vaguely recognized him, but could not place the face. Timidly she reached a hand out to comfort him when her hand was slapped away by a whip._

_Gazing up quickly in a terrified manner stood the skeleton—whip in hand._

_He spoke words to her, pointing and referring to the boy—yet she could not hear a word. After all, not even in dreams does one understand death._

_Christine cried silent cries as the skeleton continued to whip the child mercilessly. Finally having enough she yelled out; surprisingly her voice held sound and turned the boy to face her, tears in her eyes. Yet those eyes brimming with tears widened at what they saw. The skeleton had vanished, but before her lay a boy with a mask covered face—a skull mask._

_Terrified and out of anguish the girl attempted to rip the horrendous face from him but could not. She gazed back down to find that the mask no longer appeared as an addition on his face, but that the skull was his face._

_In tears she ran from him, as the skies darkened and swirled about her. Still, even there she once again heard the voice calling once more—first clearly and then descending further away back down the path she had just ran._

_'Do not depart …'_

_The child, the dream-child Christine gazed up and dried her tears as the voice faintly made out, '… Mend the broken heart.' There she saw the faint emblem of a fatherly face she could not name before the world went black._

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**_Okay so it wasn't the third part of "Deja Vous" I promised, but this came to mind and I figured I could just make the 'intended' third part, a full chapter all to itself. In any case this falls more along the line of "Deja Vous" than the last one would have AND it relates to the whole story in general… giving you a few subtle hints along the way. (Some of course were inevitable, but if you glance carefully, especially as the story continues you gather a further meaning to the overall plot of the story other than 'romance'). Oh, and whose face do you suppose Christine saw in the dream? Hmm. Mysterious… well sort of. _**

**_I really hope you enjoyed it! The next chapter raps up the past as I wrote earlier, but will begin the endeavor into the present happenings or when the conflicts start to arrive. These being such as when Christine reaches engagement age (women didn't marry officially back then in France until at least 21), we hear further of Raoul, Erik meets Christine and vice versa, Madame Giry has a break down, and Christine has a rather unpleasant visitor. These events of course not all happening at once, or even all in the next chapter of course. If it was we'd have a regular "Twelfth Night" on our hands and we don't need Erik dressing up like a woman to escape death, Raoul being engaged to Christine and yet finding the 'saucy' female he doesn't know is the 'male' Erik, attractive. While at the same time having Christine love both Raoul and her long lost love Erik, whom she has no idea of his whereabouts, fearing him imprisoned or dead. This of course in addition to her being assigned to help a friend capture the love attention of one 'saucy' female Erik. Whew! Exactly right! This is not that type of story. I don't write or read that type of story, because women and men dressing up as each other to me is awkward and love triangle/square/stars are confusing--just confusing. I'm only reading Shakespeare because I have to! (Wow, how did I get off onto this???)_**

_**Well … now that you've read I love a nice REVIEW. Preferably one from each of you, but seeing how that is unlikely to happen I can settle for a few. Still, I'd like more than one total a chapter. I'm beginning to think you readers are taking me a bit to seriously when I say, "I'd like a** (one)** review." Remember the more the better and long or short, I love 'em! Tell me your thoughts comments, suggestions, humors, or encouragements. If you didn't like it, tell me. Reviews are not meant to be just positives. I'm aware some will like it and some not. If you have an idea to make it better tell me! I'm a writer in learning too and any help is greatly appreciated.**_

_**-MickeytheMouse** _


	10. A Boy Becomes A Legend

_A/N: Merry 'late' Christmas!!_

_Disclaimer: I don't own anything other than certain original characters and situations pertaining to plot. Got it? Good. … Have a nice day!_

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**Chapter 9**

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**A Boy Becomes a Legend **

**And the Girl Called Cosette **

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Christine awoke from the strange dream once more, Meg at her side. It seemed to the girl, that her friend, Meg had changed so much since their meeting upon the rooftop. Her face was less full, more defined, and her childish eyes were slowly beginning to lose their childish appearance. Even in an opera house of all places one cannot escape the fate of growing up, and eight years can do wonders.

"Christine—was it…was it that dream again?" Meg spoke with a weary voice. Her hand reached towards her friend's brow upon instinct, and held a wet rag to Christine's head in learning. These occurrences had become quite frequent.

"It was indeed Meg. I can't seem to escape it in my dreams, and it seems I never will."

"The boy?"

Christine nodded her head and chose to remove the rag from her head and set it aside. "Yes, the very same one with the boy being whipped and the voice."

Over the years, especially since 'certain' occurrences between the ballet rats and a 'certain' aloof figure that had become quite the legend around the opera, Christine had chosen to discreetly to leave out the matter of a mask and the skeleton. In these times, the similarities would be to unpredictable.

"Well, like I have said before a dream always means something. Ones, especially with redundancy are especially astute. You have just got to keep looking for a meaning. Have you found one yet?"

Christine feigned a hard thought process before squeaking out, "My inner child longs for attention, but keeps being beaten down…and, um…at the church lies the answer?"

"Well... a far off idea at the most…"

Christine clamored her arms to her chest, pouting playfully at her friend. "Don't blame my ill-comprehension on me friend—I'm no Daniel!"

Meg Giry grinned at this, pulling her famous smirk leering certain misfortunes upon the wit and most often pride of the girl before her. "True as can be. Why, if you had been he in that pit of lions they wouldn't have even looked upon you as a redemption to their hunger—even if they had not been fed in many months!"

Christine, herself falling into the playwrights role, stood abruptly, cozying herself to the fate before her. "Ah—doth thou call my lady a twig?"

Meg's eyes fell for a few moments back into their gleam. "Ah, such is the life of you, poor gentle servant… that you should serve a twig."

"Meghan Giry, you are positively horrid." Christine added this with a smile before Meg once more hurried her along.

Today, after all was no ordinary day. It had been eight long years since young Christine had joined the corps, and the day had finally come when she would be given the honor of 'chorus girl.' Though, it was true that many reach this level and it is no secret it is seen down upon, Meg knew how dearly Christine wished to sing, no matter how hard her chest quaked at the thought. A chorus girl was even closer to becoming a diva than any other position. Understudy was a false concept; today would be her one chance. Sing and bypass the lower ranks, struggle and haggle a fair position, or completely blow it and face the idea of understudy… to the chorus.

"Come now Christine, we've to be at the stage in ten minutes for your 'debut' and I won't have my future star waste in on account of bed slippers—now get dressed!"

Resigning to her wardrobe, the same simple one she had worn since the age of eight. Larger in size of course, but it swarmed her doubts. "Meg, do you really think you should be giving me all of this over confidence? What if I make a fool of my—"

The girl, now a growing woman grabbed Christine by the shoulders spoke seriously. "You won't."

Christine still gave a disbelieving glance, but Meg shook her head as if to ward it off. "You'll be fine."

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The two girls arrived just in time to see two new womanly figures stand beside the Manager. Behind them as well as the crowd of chorus girls stood the few remaining gifts for Christine. The few that had once said: "Félicitations Christine! … Accueillir au Christine de choeur! (welcome to the choir) … and the gorgeous display of her name, "CHRISTINE" in bright, bold letters had been dismantled until all that was left was a brief reminder.

"Madame Corentine, I assure you that your daughter will find these walls not only inclined to Parisian taste but we here at the Opera Populaire pride ourselves in the arts so I can assure you that her face will never shadow out of the limelight." The manager put on a forced smile as he began leading the two around. The mother had been prying him for months now, but having raised her offer to 30,000 francs on the spot the human side of him had given in. In other words certain investors of the company threatened to remove their funds should he refuse and delay the opera's opening even further.

Still, with the glistening eyes of the girls surrounding the, 'Corentines,' Christine's heart began to sink into her chest and her breath to slow. To make matters for the worse Monsieur Armand had grabbed her bouquet and presented the new 'diva' along with the remnants of her special day. Those beautiful gifts now read a cold, "Congratulations" and "Welcome." There was not even an essence of her left in them.

Meghan with a heavy heart dared a glance towards Christine but what she saw made her wish she had not even dared. Christine's face though hidden by the deep shadow that cast upon her appeared swollen and eyes puffy while a single tear ran down her cheek. In one split moment Christine had spun around and turned to leave, but when Meg thought to go after and console her, the chance was taken over by Monsieurs Arnaud and Reyer.

"Miss Daae? I do not believe Monsieur Reyer has dismissed you all. Why do you not come and introduce yourself to Mam'selle Corentine … you shall be working with her as part of the chorus now after all." The manager once again called her over with a beckoning hand.

Christine stood rigid for a few moments before wiping away stay tears and walking over to the woman and girl a few years her senior showed such pride that even Meg did not know she possessed.

"Lovely to meet you Mademoiselle Corentine. I look forward to hearing your voice triumph upon opening night."

"Well spoken Miss Daae." Monsieur Reyer retorted. "Perhaps you would be so kind as to show our new diva to her room?"

"Ah, but I have yet to finish the tour my good man, Reyer. Business before pleasure you know." With a small wry grin he turned to Christine, but directed his next comment to Reyer. "Perhaps she could make it presentable for her when I am through … put away the bags, fluff pillows … that sort of thing?"

Reyer fumbled with words for a moment, he was shocked even himself how the manager had not only caused the entire cast to forget the planned celebration, but had turned Christine Daae into a scorned servant instead of the celebrated one of the hour. Still, he could do nothing but whisper lightly into her ear his quick apologizes and congratulations before ushering he on upstairs to complete the task. It was truly a shame such a lovely girl had turned into a regular 'Cosette.'

So Meg watched as her friend walk away from the stage, a blank, cold expression upon her face. Christine made her way up the iron spiral staircases slowly, without the joy she had for the last eight years waiting for this day. She rubbed her hand softly across the few rusted portions until it shinned back her reflection. Warped and blurred, with the slightest movement the image of the new diva seemed to shine in her place. Without another moment to dally Christine ran and did not stop until she reached that certain fifth door on the second level right staircase

"Here I am, at last." Heaving a light sigh she reached for the knob, finding it to easily swing open. "Monsieur Arnaud must have left it unlocked since it was not being used."

Those first few steps were heightened with anticipation and sorrow, knowing she would never wake again to the sight. That door that seemed to whisper humbleness was quite the deceiver. From that velvety soft carpet that was so thick she could feel it rush in-between her toes through her ballet slippers to the mahogany beg that even she, the upright of over five feet, could not easily sit upon it's base. Elegant draperies and the exquisite clutter of hand mirrors, rouge powders and hundreds it seemed flowers. The sight was too lovely that Christine even found a tear slipping by her cheek.

"It's so beautiful. Even more so than what I can remember from back home." Just as her thoughts began to drift unhappily the teenage girl turned until her eyes met the most wondrous sight. In front of her was the largest wardrobe she had ever seen. The pristine edges and ornate designs all were surrounding a crystal clear mirror.

"Why I've never seen one made such as this. It nearly touches the ceiling and the mirror is tall enough that one could effortlessly walk through it."

Christine fingered the silver delicately and thoughtfully as if once more her childish fantasies had given in. Still, bliss is almost always forsaken as a rap upon the door interrupted her thoughts. It was Madame Giry.

"Come along child, you look as if you have done your work quite well now if you will—" Madame spoke on even as Christine made to interrupt. She had not even begun to work, that the room was already this way. Still, Madame would have none of it and shooed the girl's thoughts away.

"We are still set to have practice Christine—now that you are a chorus girl you will have more responsibilities and I cannot always look after you." After Christine submitted and began strolling past her, Christine her the woman whisper sweetly in her ear, "By the way my dear, 'Happy Birthday.'"

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Eight years. It had been eight years since at the age of nine I had entered into the service of the Opera House. The man and woman, Khan and Giry were the ones I was truly indebted to. It had been the man Khan's steadfastness that had my freedom finally 'swindled' out of that prison and it was Giry who offered me shelter. Not that the shelter was much of a looker, but at least there were no more whips and chains. Before those times I can still remember the hoards of Englishmen and women, screaming children, I hated the whole lot — la riche. Those in the upper class were always the ones to scorn me more than the other scum of street dwellers. No— to them I was only a gypsy— no less than that even. I was an act, a device merely for amusement.

In my days hundreds of the nunnery had come by to 'turn me from evil,' but the moment they glimpsed my face they ran like all the others. In the years of my capture I had done many things I have regretted. While flimsy girls gasped at the thought of fibbing, my mind was consumed already with the sin of death.

With so many years to contemplate, I have assumed many things such as the human's innate ability to deceive, childish delusion, and the presence of God. God had been the one thing I knew for sure since birth. Even though I had been tortured as a child the thought of a creator was the one virtue my mother and Nana did right. True I never knew much about him other than people would pray to him and I assumed he listened. Even in the dark times I believed he listened, but no matter whether he did or not he was the picture on the wall I spoke to. Even in my forgotten state I had always known that there must be someone in charge of it all, but I still do not understand His purpose, nor mine in this world. After a while however the act grew old and I turned to other amusements, as my life had not gotten better.

Now I had a new home and it had taken a few months to figure out a plan for my 'life' underground. Madame Giry was busy with her growing child, as well as helping to run the opera so her visits began lessening as time went. My first new amusement became searching he undergrounds for certain passageways. My favorite soon became the one leading to an air vent high above the practice stage where I could glance down at the ballet girls. The spot was also a prime spot for echo. There I could jeer and play at the ballet girl's already fragile minds. Of course as a gentleman of sots I only would only frighten them when absolutely necessary, most often being the case. Still, the more I observed the opera the more I became fascinated.

Back at the estate (I could never refer to it as home) I was accustomed to immersing myself in mathematical equations and tinkering in science. While at eh opera, however, I had been introduced to a new love— music. It was rhythmic and unexpected, yet precise with every note. Seeing the men and women act out their parts had me imagining each one as a factor in a long list of equations. To be truthful, I came to realize that seeing them as such made them like pawns in my hand. It was a power that my young mind clung to.

This power yet had started to limit itself. In my younger years my whispers and pranks had made me a ghost— one whispered fearfully about in silence. Yet even now as I grew, my eyes came to also see them as the sole reason that could ever make me internally human. I had never experienced true companionship and I missed it, though it had never been felt. Loneliness is an odd thing to express. Even my constant endeavors on an old organ I had found and refurbish down in the basements did not fill that hole.

On the day of some great celebration— the start of a new season, the managers Arnaud and Lefevre along with their lackey, Willoughby had found themselves without a diva as their previous star had moved on to better things. It was the stirrings of the new, young diva arriving and taking her place that awoke me. It was obvious to me as well as others of the staff that the hiring was strictly a business move.

It was also the commotion above that had me clamoring to my hiding place along the diva's new quarters. I had come with my regular intensions of mischief and warning for all new members of the corps and staff. Already placed were a few contraptions, among the room and while I had begun composing my famous 'note' I heard the light turn of a key. This had me dropping the quill and rushing to the wardrobe passage I had built a few weeks before.

The few pitiful staff members had not even noticed the new furniture addition to the room as they had continually adorned the interior. They noticed least of all my spatiality two-way mirror. My wardrobe creation was not perfect however. I was only a seventeen-year-old boy after all, and I had yet to fully reach 'genius.' The mirror's transparency was completely hidden unless the outside viewer was to glance at a forty-five degree angle at which the mirror would be as glass. It was an evident flaw, but I was ensured enough that I would not have a diva within these walls that would ever not be directly in the mirror's gaze. The diva women were after all notoriously vain.

Still, even with my precautions, I had not expected the young, new chorus girl to enter in while I was at work.

"It's beautiful." She had said as I watched her behind the safety of the mirror. I watched how her small fingers fell across all aspects of the room gracefully.

After a few moments a tear seemed to almost fall down her face before she spotted my place of hiding. For a time childish fear reared up in my throat as I had thought she had seen me, but in seeing her smile I was proved otherwise. I even began smiling myself at the success of the mirror and all, but I kept quiet as to not reveal myself.

Then Giry entered in and my relaxation tightened. She seemed not to notice me but her eyes did gaze about the room longer than normal before she resumed to rush the girl. I felt myself once again in the clear, but she suddenly turned around, surprising me. At first her eyes gazed back in appreciation, but as she stepped forward and her eyes met the mirror her young eyes widened. Immediately I knew she could see me.

It was at that time that I finally allowed my eyes to take her in for some reason. No doubt she had lived a mostly indoor life, as her skin was pale and fair compared to my lightly bronzed skin. Still, even after eight years my color was beginning to drain from the lack of sunlight. Her auburn hair was lightly frilled and curled; her cheeks were pink and eyes shining. She was around my age as I could tell and not half bad looking either. With the blink of an eye I realized my pause and mistake and instantly, with another blink of the girl's eyes, I vanished without a sound.

I vaguely saw the girl stare on still in frightful wonder before rushing out as fast as her legs could take her.

It appeared had been found out, by a young girl no less. All that remained to be seen now was whether she would prove to be a stiff or a gossip. Either way, whether she told anyone or not I doubted any but Giry would believe her, and even Giry would deny the fact for my sake. All the same, even as I left to head back down once more I could not shake that young girl from my head.

I had become a legend to an opera, a legend in my own mind, and now to a teenage girl. In less than eight years I had become the legendary, 'Phantom of the Opera.'

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_Alas comes the end to another chapter. Here we have the curiosity being planted, the only question now is will young Christine take hold of that curiosity and act on it. Will she seek further to find out about the boy in the mirror or will she let it all be a dream? But even if she does that image of the boy from her nightmare will still haunt her… and now, she has matched a face to him. _

_We also see the introduction of 'Carlotta' as Mademoiselle Corentine. _

_For those of you familiar and even those of you not familiar with "Les Miserables" the name "Cosette" was borrowed and literally means "little thing of no importance."_

_All the factors have been placed so now it is time for chaos to ensue and the real story to begin! _

_By the way, I hope everyone enjoyed his or her Christmas and "Happy New Year!"_

_Wow, 2007 … sigh … I feel so old._

_As always I would love a couple of **reviews** or comments from you readers as they keep me running with imaginative juices._

_-MickeytheMouse_


	11. Discovery Part I

_A/N: I wish to thank my **awesome** reviewer for the last chapter at this time. That's right **gold4roses**, I'm talking about you. Thanks again! I love it that you're still following the story! So chapeau (hurray) and a merci beaucoup to you!_

_Disclaimer: There may be many things I take credit for the genius of and many things I do not. This is one of those cases I do not. Modesty's depressing isn't it?_

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**Chapter 10 **

**Discovery **

**Part I**

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It was dark, and the walls seemed to drip brown like that of stalagmites hanging from the opera's lower interior. Slowly a bleak shadow began stirring showing his wide, sullen eyes once again to the candle-lighted chamber. As the now illuminated figure entered his smudged and half hidden face contorted painfully as the last portion of his findings had been collected. Now all the pieces simply remained in a pile as a giant jigsaw puzzle waiting to be reassembled. Young Erik over the last week since his near discovery had been most fortunate as to find the abandoned ruble of an old-fashioned organ. Having loved the thrill of reassembling since a young age his eyes glistened at the task ahead.

Organ keys were soon sorted and the wood scrambled and distastefully found wanting in quality. After what seemed years of abandonment the wood had rotted somewhat so with a wry expression he acknowledged his only option.

'The stage prop storeroom.'

Erik knew he must again venture up to the above. Gritting his teeth he dropped what wood he held, grabbed a few lengths of rope and a rusted saw and began his way up. Oh how he hated unwanted midnight excursions.

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Christine Daae awoke from her sleep suddenly and strangely. It had been the first night she did not awake as a result of her nightmare. In fact even after matching her dream with the face in the mirror her dream had still found her. She wondered why then on this night it did not. Something inside her knew that the night was still present and Saturday had not yet passed into the next day but the poor girl could not yet find sleep once again. She would still have one day more of hard work before Monday arrived and the theater was given its weekly day off.

Pulling her legs up and to the side of her cot she pulled on her nightdress and barefooted went for a walk to calm her nerves and hopefully call forth that legendary man of sand to send her back to sleep.

Rubbing her eyes from the sudden image of light Christine found that her feet had led her to the stage, just ahead of the orchestra pit. Facing her was the strangest glowing object she had set her eyes on. It was like that of a glowing fairy trapped within a cage of light: the ghost light. She had heard the managers ask Bouquet to install one a month ago when the 'ghost problems' seemed to get out of hand. Her fingers reached for it tentatively wondering how such a mysterious object could ensnare such curiosity in her and theoretically ward off such ghosts haunting the theater.

Shaking her head with a sigh and a yawn the young girl gave one last look to the lamp and headed back. Passing a door that was slightly ajar she believed she heard a strange sound. Peering inside and finding within eyesight nothing but spare props she lifted her shoulders in dismissal and left for bed.

Watching with golden eyes and crouched behind the rickety doorframe, Erik watched the young girl walk away and shaking his head as well wondering how it was that it was she always unconsciously confronting him. This constant state of discovery was driving his nerves wild.

Taking the newfound wood back down, he knew that even this job would take him into the next morning.

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It was morning in the opera house and already the place was full with bustle and music.

"Ladies, Ladies! Do try to settle down and return to your places. We have still to finish warm-ups before we begin rehearsals for the newest production." Madame Giry neatly gathered the gossiping girls back into her gaze and eyeing Christine as well as a few others she quickly gave the group a stern eye. "I also wish to take this time to congratulate the newest editions to our chorus and remind them their practice resumes after this, but not until then. We have hours of work to put in today, before those few spend even further hours with Monsieur Reyer."

From the back a few groans were heard, but in the snap of her cane against the stage floor, attention was demanded.

"Now, stretching has commenced and is over. Begin practicing the basic steps."

Everyone quieted and moved into 'first position,' their hands ensnared together and resting calmly by their stomachs.

"Good. Now, second, third, fourth, fifth. Good, good. It is nice to see all of you have come ready today. Now then, lets see have much you have been practicing and retaining. 'Demi Plie,' on my count. One and two and one and two." With each command the woman's cane bat out the counts as she walked around, gazing at her pupils.

"Again, one—two—one—t… Keep your back straight Brigitte, and Sabine your shoulders dear, your shoulders. Come now girls posture is rudimentary, and I should not have to go over this each practice."

The two girls widened their eyes and with a sudden sternness revised their position and began again.

"Very good, now first position. Who remembers what we usually do next? Brigitte?"

The young girl shook her head slightly; she was obviously ashamed and hoping dearly to not receive a reprimanding. Instead Madame Giry's eyes glazed on through the girls until she met one slim individual that made her smile. "No? Well I'll have to try someone else—perhaps, Christine do you mind showing us what the next practice step is?"

The girl blushed deeply, awaking from her mid ravine, and stepped forward. "Battements Tendus." Returning back to fifth position the girl's face hardened with concentration as she whispered the commands, but loud enough that those close by could hear her. "A la quatrieme." Her leg and foot slid out from position in front. "A la seconde." Christine's feet moved out to the side, before she finished off by positioning them again through the back. "A la quatrieme derriere."

She looked up and then stepped back into her spot among the other girls, awaiting Madame's approval.

"Good, Miss Daae, though a tad rushed in execution. You will need to work on that."

Christine nodded and turned her eyes to Meg to see her smiling genuinely at her before joining in and turning back to face instruction. The rest of practice went smoothly and hardly any corrections were made on any of the girls, but by the time practice had ended they were all worn out. Looking back at Christine, Meg wondered how it Christine could possibly hope to catch her breath to sing next.

"All right girls, back to your quarters for the afternoon. Remember that your _dejeuner_ begins promptly at two so don't be late! As for the rest of you girls Monsieur Reyer should be here in a few minutes so stay here." Madame Giry remarked cryptically while calling Meg to follow her. As the two passed Christine the woman whispered softly before catching her eye contact, "Good luck."

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Monsieur Reyer arrived soon after Madame left, but strangely he came, handed out scripts, and left off of the stage. Everyone looked down blankly at the pile of papers, but before anyone could utter a word the new arrival entered quickly though the drawn curtains of the opera stage with a scoff.

"_L'elisir d'amore_. _The Elixir of Love_? What sort of rubbish is this opera coming out with this time?"

She flipped quickly through her own script, idly walking herself through the lines and verses before dropping the pile trivially by her side. Rushing over heatedly to one of the nearby chorus girls she grabbed the script for them and almost spitting into their face, yet asking herself more than them, "What sort of rubbish is this that they expect me to sing this! Why when I was in London they only stuck to the refined classics not this—"

The young woman paused mid-vent when he eyes widened in a strange sort of fear in disgust when she saw young Christine hiding in a dark corner. Their eyes locked and once one pair shined with meekness towards those of hatred Corentine's feet moved forward.

"Cosette? Cosette! I'm speaking to you!" The slightly taller and leaner girl towered over Christine whom by now was gritting her teeth, but managed to icily provide her tormenter with a reply.

"My name is Christine."

Corentine smirked slyly before scrunching down beside her to whisper near her ear.

This may be, but that is not what they call you here is it? Cosette— that is your name. Insignificant. You are after all only an insignificant orphan. Doesn't that hit the mark?" The eyes of Christine widened behind the frills in her hair that hid her face. It would be a lie to say the words didn't sting, but she held it in all the same—painfully.

"You'd be surprised how much ballet girls gossip late at night, especially intoxicated. I have only been here a week and already I know enough about you that would—"

Unable to handle her ridicule any longer Christine hissed slightly, "Fermez la bouche."

Still in a taunting tone Corentine asked, what was that?"

To this Christine stood upright, her fists tightly clenched by her sides and her eyes blazing. Simultaneously Monsieur Reyer entered the stage once again just in time to see the outburst.

"I said: 'Fermez la bouche laid!'" The girl, Christine, was seething by now. All she could think about were those late nights in her room crying and calling for her Papa and the silence she received and the pain that it brought her. She was alone and she knew it, and even within an opera house full of girls, one being her one and only friend, Christine felt totally and completely alone. Right then all her frustrations, which had been brooding, landed straight into 'poor' Corentine's face.

"Mademoiselles! Corentine. Daae? What is the meaning of this?" Christine's anger flushed face quickly turned to that of embarrassment as she plopped back down to her seat. Corentine however did not appear to shown any remorse and quickly piped up to the conductor a petty excuse which involved Christine.

"I was simply assisting Mademoiselle with her script when she lashed out on me as you apparently saw."

Monsieur Reyer nodded his head in clear understanding but not in belief. It was clear from what Reyer had witnessed from Daae that she most likely was provoked, but he could do nothing to the daughter of the opera's richest benefactor. Henri Reyer was trapped between moral duty and immoral fortune. Since he first began working for the opera the roles of so many had been shifting and now above all others, money was adjusting the opera's once well-kept balance. He readjusted his reading spectacles before Corentine added, "By the way Monsieur Reyer I absolutely adore this season's choice for an opening opera."

Reyer's eyes widened before he shifted his gaze away from the two.

"Now girls, by now should have at least glanced through the script and noted that this season's opening includes two main female roles a lead and supporting. Now being part of _my_ chorus you girls get first auditions before all the rest of Paris. I suggest all of you do your best because even as chorus girls you could earn a well-established role. Even though many of you may end with roles as the chorus of 'peasants' or even 'soldiers' I expect each of you to treat the opera with as much respect as you would a man who holds your life by a rope."

Pulling a large scroll of paper from his side he mounted it to the wall and allowed a quill to rest by its side. "This is where I would like each and every one of you to sign up. Although the main roles originally call for sopranos I am willing to bend depending on three simple facts."

With that phrase most everyone who had been under Reyer's instruction for even a few weeks whispered under their breath what they knew he would reply.

"Voice clarity. Voice quality. Voice flexibility."

"I will return in a moment so don't just stand there like fools, hurry and sign up."

The moment the man turned his back the load of girls scrambled to the list pushing and shoving as if the higher on the list they were the better their chances.

"Stop pushing!"

"I'm not shoving! You're the one who hit me in the face in order to get the pen."

"Honestly I don't see why all of you are arguing. My name is already in the top slot for the lead."

After the disorderly line fished out Christine, who had been contemplating the event within her mind, stood up silently and waited her turn to inscribe her name into the parchment. One sole girl stood aside and watched her curiously as Christine signed her name up for all three slots except for the position of 'soldier.' Smiling to herself Christine thought to give her as much chance as possible of earning a slot, but there were some things even she would not do.

Monsieur Reyer returned just as al the girls had found their places back among the stage. He looked swiftly over the names before unstitching the parchment and rolling it back up. "Auditions will begin in promptly one hour so I suggest all of you practice. Music sheets are with the script—learn them." With another glance at the group and in remembering the three names under the title for lead role Reyer motioned his eyes towards the young girl Christine who was devouring through the music like she had been deprived of music for years on end and he absently wondered if she had. Still, Reyer whispered to himself directed towards her just as Madame Giry had done.

"Good luck, Christine. Good luck."

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_All right, so I technically just split this chapter in half because I was starting to experience so much writer's block that I just wanted to go ahead and get this installment out. To make up for it I'll tell you how things are running. The next chapter (part two) will feature Christine finally going behind that mysterious mirror followed by chapter 11 to where Christine confronts Erik openly for the first time. As far as I can see that chapter will fully feature Erik and Christine and I do not foresee any side trips. Anyways I hope you still enjoyed it and for those of you who like to know when I used french what I am saying the 'glossary' of the phrases/terms used are below._

"**_dejeuner" _**Lunch

"**Fermez la bouche." **Shut your mouth.

"**Fermez la bouche _laid"_** Shut your _ugly_ mouth.

_Also I wish to apologize for you ballet enthusiasts who may have an idea on what goes on during a normal practice, but I am not one of you. I relied on websites for information in this chapter, but the good news is that I have recently bought a book of famous ballets so at least I can start being more realistic in my portrayals of actual performances at least._

_As always I would love a couple of **reviews** or comments from you readers as they keep me running with imaginative juices._

_-MickeytheMouse_


	12. Discovery Part II

A/N: Well after weeks of waiting the second part has been updated. I believe I am now out of my slight writer's block, which contributed to the long wait, but hey—you get a fairly long chapter in return… as well as candy hearts to celebrate Valentine's or _Jour_ _de Saint Valentin._ So I hope everyone enjoyed and HURRAY this means it's been a little over a year since this fan-fic has begun—Huzzah! (yes I said 'huzzah,' as in Pirates of the Caribbean…but what can I say other than I have sugar in my system.)

Disclaimer: _Je ne sais pas pourquoi je besoin un 'disclaimer,' mais c'est ici!_ (Mind you the French order is most likely to be off, but essentially it says: "I do not know why I need a 'disclaimer,' but here it is!") So yes—I do **not** own the Phantom of the Opera, its characters, plotlines, nor anything involved within the branches of Kay or Webber. Je ne possède rien! (I possess nothing). ---Except for the beginning song in this chapter . . . it's original.

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**Chapter 10**

**Discovery**

**Part II**

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The hours had past long ago and Christine had long abandoned the stage and any happy thought she may have had in pleasing the memory of her father. Here she laid crying with her fists clenched while they held up the torn rags that epitomized the life of a ballet rat. The moment of her audition still rang painfully in her head. She had been smiling then and full of hope. The words had sprang joyfully to her lips, but her throat had refused to let tem out. She had _croaked_ to put the event bluntly. So now as she lay there feeling like the 'Cosette' she had become, Christine whispered a desperate cry out to her father. Still, what would have been a happy lullaby turned dark with a melancholy pessimism.

_"Father please be with me_

_Let my heart be strong_

_Let me just have courage,_

_And not be alone._

_I wish to sing and dance_

_Like a new romance_

_And be the girl—that you've always known."_

Christine's hands clenched tighter as her breathing turned erratic. Through the simple turn of the song the utter pain and desperation for hope could be heard in her voice.

_"For although you are not here_

_I can sense that … you are near._

_Please let me not be burdened_

_Let me have, back my courage._

_God please grant your servant this_

_'Cause it's not for glory_

_Only to remember,_

_Oh, how it was to feel your kiss._

_So starting now, in Cosette's plight_

_Bring me back…to the light."_

Christine released her head from its shackles of the bed and sat up only to reach under the pillow for a worn piece of paper. Silently her eyes brimmed with tears.

_"Home, new family_

_How I wanted this opera to be mine..._

_Hope, love, reason_

_To go on and hope to see the coming…daylight_

_Years have I been waiting_

_Only singing in my mind._

_If I succeed who knows what I'll become—_

_Someone I admire_

_Someone worth my while_

_Someone who can still have love."_

Christine wiped the tears from her eyes one last time as she placed the photograph of her father back under her pillow and whispered, "I have failed you Papa."

_"Now, that I've lost the chance_

_Let me not just lose it_

_Let my hopes not be ruined …_

_All my dreams_

_May they guide me_

_May my voice surprise me_

_May I prove to them all…_

_I am not worthless_

_Nor alone."_

Christine bit her lip in one last attempt to hold back the tears, but all was to no avail. As her song ended the poor girl found herself hating. She hated the opera for becoming her prison, she hated her father for dying and leaving her, she hated her best friend Meg because she had a mother, she hated herself for being a coward, and she hated that Corentine girl for being right about her.

Suddenly her anguish turned further into anger as she ran out of her room and up to the diva's quarters. Heaving heavily and her legs aching, Christine's head pounded in attempts to tell her to stop. The loss in Christine's heart, however, would not listen. Instead, she took her fists and began thrashing violently on the door until it shook with her force. Screaming, Christine called out to the girl she believed was inside.

"I give up, are you happy now? Do you hear me? I give! I'm nothing! You win! Now leave me alone!"

Still, no sound could be heard from inside, only the suction of the hall that captured any sound but the ringing echo of her words. Tentatively, Christine reached for the knob and found that it turned with ease. The room looked as if the girl, Corentine, was still at practice and not much in terms of structure had changed other than the mounds of fancy clothes and suitcases. In particular the mirror was still present, facing her hauntingly now. Christine's anger vanished with that one item and only unease filled her. The girl swallowed heavily and gathering the resolve she had lost during practice, she inched towards her reflection. Deep inside her, Christine knew that the only way to move on and forget her mistake and live on would be to see herself. She would have to force herself to gaze into the eyes that regretted and hated and those eyes that only reflected sadness.

Taking a full breath she stepped into the full view of the mirror and gasped. Hours of crying had turned her cheeks and eyes red, but even with her hair a mess as she calmed down she saw something. Reaching up to her cheek and then further to her eye Christine saw for what seemed like decades, a reflection of her father. He had often told her that it was his eyes that her mother had fallen in love with first. A brownish hazel glistened behind a world of glass that was her eyes. Despite everything Christine knew that he would always be with her. Her father would be with her in her own reflection, in laughter, in her heart, and in stories.

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_A young image of Christine, barely the age of five was crying out in laughter as her father Charles Daae tickled her sides to no end. The man was so young and youthful compared to when she saw him last before his death. His blonde hairs flecked down his forehead as he joined in with his daughter's laughter._

_Through her subsiding giggles the girl scrambled to sit back on the bed and adorably asked her father the same question she had for years. "Will you sing for me again, Papa?"_

_The man looked on his daughter with playful scolding as he used the tip of his finger to flick her on the nose causing the girl's face to fall into a feign sadness. "Now Bumblebee you know it's late and I wont have my favorite daughter staying up late."_

_Christine smiled at this as she patted her father on his shoulder. "Papa! I am your only daughter." The man smiled again at his daughter's cleverness. With a fatherly gaze he made to tuck her inside the covers and laughed softly to himself as she snuggled in deeply._

_"Of course…my only daughter could stay up a few minutes later to hear a bedtime story."_

_Christine's eyes brightened up instantly as she chirped up happily, "Really, Papa? Would you?"_

_The man propped his arm up to his chin in thought. "I know—I shall tell you the story of The Princess and the Goblin." Still, looking at his daughter he was surprised to find that a look of distaste was written all over her visage. "Well then what story shall I tell you? Bumblebee this is no time to be picky."_

_Christine looked up pleadingly as she meekly replied, "But—but I know what I want you to tell me."_

_"Oh really? Then do tell."_

_Instead of replying the child simply pointed to the painting of the angel Gabriel that has hung behind her father. Charles sighed deeply at his daughter's whims, yet he understood her hint._

_"Alright then, if my daughter wishes it of me I will tell her the story of The Angel of Music. Oui. I will tell it to you once again."_

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Coming out of the ravine, Christine placed her fingers lightly onto the glass of the mirror and was amazed at what she saw. Although she was not educated much in the ways of the industrialized world, Christine did know a few things about construction. She knew that with any normal mirror the reflection of the balms of her fingers would intersect with the real ones, but with this mirror there was a gap. Christine had only seen this type of phenomenon once and it was when her Nana had given her a 'peering glass' for her to play with. It was only a strange amusement to her as a child, as one could see through it on one side and only ones reflection on the other. It was a child's toy to her, but the girl wondered why such a thing was in a dressing room of all places.

Instantly the girl blanched as the possibilities swirled within her head. This 'toy' could be used as a very lecherous instrument and it both enthralled and appalled Christine.

Then, Christine remembered the boy within the mirror. Weeks had past since the incident in which she had been thought of as a dream, but now with her newly found knowledge of the mirror, curiosity began to gnaw at her. If there truly had been a boy behind the glass then there had to be a way in and Christine wondered if his window was also the doorway.

Her fingers searched the mirror more feverously now as she searched for any sort of grove or latch. Running her fingers atop the glass once more Christine found her searching to no avail. The fleeting thought of breaking it down crossed her mind before the rationale sunk in and berated her for wanting to destroy the property of Mademoiselle Corentine. She let out a held breath and her eyes widened at the thought. Since when did Christine owe the girl anything? Still, the thought remained that even if Christine did wish to destroy the mirror it would only leave a cavity in the wall and that of course would leave questions, not to mention suspicions. Christine did not wish to cause trouble for the boy behind the mirror—all the girl wanted to do was sate her curiosity.

Stumped, the poor girl simply sat at the foot of the mirror to contemplate her next move. Swiftly she went over her options. She had already checked the surface of the mirror and she doubted the parlor-trick of the floorboard would help. In any case the entrance could be more readily happened upon if all one had to do was accidentally step on it. The way in had to something unexpected, perhaps obvious and perhaps even something a diva would never touch or hold interest in.

Christine's eye scanned the room once again and her eyes gleamed when she saw it.

Just beside the mirror which was inlaid into the wall was a plaque that read the year '1839' and read: "Ode to the maker of music for whom this Opera House was created." On first glance it appeared normal, but getting on hands and knees Christine saw that a small latch was in fact hidden along its height. In fact, now that she knew its location Christine was quite sure that one could trip it with the foot, adding a little leverage.

Tentatively Christine did so and heard a resounding click and witnessed the glass of the mirror offset. In between where the glass met its fame the girl could see the small evidence of a crack and taking her hands to it was able to pry the mirror open and walk through it. As soon as she entered she closed the door and the final snap was heard. The mirror had completely closed behind her.

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Meters below the opera house, Erik was now beginning to add the finishing touches on the newly reconstructed organ, which had taken him all the previous night. With his fingers jittering in excitement he plucked a key and let in hold for a few moments as he dwelled in the moment.

Fingering a few more notes he noted a few off notes and quickly reached behind to tune the instrument. Again he tried the keys and actually found himself smiling. It had been ages since he had been afforded the luxury of music of any sort. After so many years of even being within the opera he believed he would be driven insane from the lack of contact with it. Several times he had even tried sneaking into many of the secret passages of the underground to find places where he could hear practices. On a few occasions he was even so rash as to ascend to the rafters of the stage and to hide deep within the shadows.

This obsession with music and his rashness was ironically what led to the many 'disasters' led by the 'opera ghost.' In reality in his earlier years Erik had merely accidentally set loose a few ropes and loose bolts here and there—it was not until recently that the overwhelming blame got to him. After so long Erik desired to actually prove the accusations to the crime. If he was going to be blamed, he might as well give the opera something to blame him for.

Turning from his thoughts, Erik located himself some blank parchment he had been drying and made to begin composing. Although Erik had been exposed to the organ before he had never ventured into actual composition of music. With a coy grin to himself, Erik readied himself for the challenge.

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Behind the mirror—Christine still could not actually believe that she was _behind the mirror_ of the diva's quarters. Looking around

She noticed the passage was very dank looking with its dripping walls and the pools of water at her feet, yet the lamp aside the doorway did give the place a small 'pick-me-up.' Timidly, she began walking the passage, not sure where it would lead her or where she should go. It was likely that there would be many sub-passages and in the first place Christine had no idea of what she was looking for. There was obviously a purpose to her wandering, but it was not evident at the moment; for now, curiosity was all that continued to sustain her.

Archway after archway, Christine finally made it to the end of the long stretch of narrow passage and found that after descending a flight of stairs she faced a vast atrium of stone. The area was tall and wide and seemed to swallow her whole like it was the stomach of the Opera House. Christine resisted yelling out in hopes of an echo and quickly and quietly exited the area still following a straight path. Her reasoning was from the famed rats said to roam the undergrounds. Bouquet had often gossiped of the rat-catcher gathering up the vermin by attracting them to light and sound. As the passage was already sparsely lit, Christine did not want to gamble by adding sound.

Seeing more light ahead, the girl clamored towards it in hopes of finding someone or something she may have been looking for. "Sal—ut?" Christine's smile fell and her eyes widened as instead of finding any signs of moving human life, what the girl saw was possibly hundreds of passageways arching one after the other and at times onto of the other with ladders connecting them in a spider's web of wood. The sight was amazing and she suddenly felt the childish impulse to run to each ladder and explore every last one of them, but the sixteen year-old's rationale won in and still she continued on in wonder. It was now a choice of mythological proportions that Christine must choose her choice of labyrinth. The poor girl began thinking the odds of never finding her way out if she were to choose the wrong one, but as she neared one entrance the most curious sound barely reached her ears. It almost sounded like that of—music.

"Music? Someone down here is playing music?" Without even pushing forth a conscience effort her feet followed the melody and before long her feet and ears led her eyes to that of a grand river. At the path's edge there was a pole as if a boat could be latched up to it, but the mode of transportation was missing if it ever was there. Instead of swimming in the dank, Christine back tracked to where she had seen a long piece of wood and returned, placing it across the water to the small ledge of the wall going farther into the tunnel. Taking a deep breath the girl made way to balance herself and thanked God that the ballerina's rudimentary still was balance. There were times the wood wobbled, but Christine made it across—barely. Now the task was to scale the side of the wall by inching her feet precariously along the side. This was more danger than she had experience in a normal day, but it had her heart pumping with anticipation, she only hoped whoever creating the sounds she followed was well worth the trouble.

Inching her way past a corner and then one final turn, Christine could tell she was nearing what she could now distinguish as the sound of an organ. The glitter of the water seemed to finally have an end as a gate was now visible. Excitement overwhelmed her and only a few meters away the girl lost her grip and went splashing into the water. Involuntarily, she yelped out in surprise and the music stopped abruptly.

Finding her swim legs the girl tediously swam over to the iron bars and peered in and gasped when she saw him. She had to peer a bit far, but it was in fact a boy that was down here and it can only be assumed that it was he that had been playing. The boy had uprooted from his seat and was wildly searching around for what Christine realized with another small gasp and a hand to her mouth—he was searching for her.

Now rationale up to this point had been Christine's main strength in finding her way down the passageways. She had held enough insight to find her way past the mirror, she had deducted a way past the water and had even held her tongue when she had needed to, but her tongue escaped her when she foolishly called out to him.

"Hello, there?!"

Christine halted her words as she noticed that the boy that had spotted her with wide eyes was backing up slowly to reach for a handful of rope. She assumed he would use the rope as leverage to open the gate, but as he steadily got closer, Christine noticed that his eyes had a dangerous look to them behind the harsh black mask. Her assumption quickly turned to anxious hope as Christine herself began slowly inching away in the water.

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_Well, Christine's been found out! I will try to get the next chapter out as soon as possible, but I will be updating my other story (Behind Ancient Mist's) first, before I begin work on this one again. Thus, it could be close to a two week wait so, I hope none of you are too disappointed, but as always **reviews** help to spur this authoress into getting herself in gear to update sooner! _

_Also, I wish to thank my two lovely reviewers, **gold4roses** and **Kalaia** for their time and attention on the last chapter. I also wish to thank you my readers as well. All of you make me happy that I am writing this story, even if it doesn't have hundreds of reviews and such. _

_Just knowing that there are still people out there reading it gives me enough inspiration to continue. _

—_By the way, 'Salut' (sah-loo) is a greeting similar to "hello" in its informal form. 'Salut' would be used among friends or 'young people' as my grandmother would say. The formal greeting of this is: Bonjour (good day) or Bonne Nuit (good night), depending on the time of day. In most cases, however, it would be in place of the former, 'Bonjour.' — just in case you are curious. _

_-MickeytheMouse _


	13. A Name

A/N: pleads Sorry it's so short! Now if you'll excuse me as I go run and hide.

Disclaimer: I do **not** own the Phantom of the Opera, its characters, plotlines, nor anything involved within the branches of Kay or Webber. Je ne possède rien! (I possess nothing).

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**Chapter 11**

**A Name**

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The water around her chilled even further down that she went, but Christine could not escape the boy's gaze. Erik himself was contemplating the young girl before him and in determining she was no threat to him, allowed his burning eyes to cool. He glared hardly at her before turning right around, leaving Christine to be ignored.

"Hey there, did you even hear me?" Christine yelled out at him from behind the bars and ever so often glancing down at the pile of rope he had thrown down.

Still, the boy continued to ignore her as Christine's eyes hardened and her grip tightened as much as she could upon the slick metal. She had just opened her mouth to protest further when her presence had reached the ends of control in Erik's mind. "You do realize that your ranting will not prove useful enough for me to allow you your way." He bit out coldly. "I do not take kindly to trespassers—in fact if you were not such a weakling the Phantom would have been done with you before you could even breathe another breath." Where his back was to Christine he heard her slight gasp and smirked freely where she could not see him do so.

"Then…"Christine stuttered quietly and shakily, "that means you _are_ him?"

Reacting upon impulse Erik lashed out at the reply filled with fear that he had heard so many times during his past. "Yes. I am the one who has become infamous among the shadows in this opera." Whirling around Christine was able to grasp full context of his mask he wore covering all but the jaw of his face. She could not deny that his appearance was quite jagged, but from a lifetime among society she saw that in the way he stood before her, even now with his eyes blazing— he was trembling.

Her eyes widened at last after fully recognizing the face that was before her—after so may years it had changed…and perhaps it was not even his, but the notion that it was and the horrors that would come along with that caused the girl to downcast her eyes. Slowly tears began to form at the mere thought of what she had experienced that night at the fair, could have also been shared by him, but she kept it to herself. For some unknown reason, she did not wish to disclose that she knew.

Erik, looked curiously upon her and in curiosity inched forward and was able to hear her next words. "What—what is your name, boy?"

The moment she raised her head to him as she struggled to keep afloat in the water he was taken by surprise that he had seen that look before. The girl's eyes, clouded with tears that had been subdued down reminded him of an event that Erik had wished never to remember.

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"_I apologize ladies and gentlemen, but the show has now come to a close. I assure you will be refunded completely." Using his other hand to pull out from the pouch where he had collected the coins earlier, my captor handed back the money. As the crowd grumbled and snatched away their coins a small child, young and impressionable, had spied me. Slowly the child inched forward, coming close enough to touch. The child grasped hold of the gold coin and lifted up to face me. To my surprise the child was only a small girl, barely the age of four. Her eyes shone despite the darkness and looking at me straight on, with a smile, she held that dumb coin out to me._

_In the back of my mind I actually longed to accept the simple gift. I had never been given a gift, except my mask, but the pain shooting from my back held me back. Both my body and instinctive fear that had bred into me kept me from doing what my heart longed to do, and so I knew that I must send the girl away. She would get hurt, —I knew somehow she would._

_Stupid. The girl stupidly still inched to me until her arms reached inside the bars. Tentatively, my fingers shook forward and as they were inches away my eyes closed in pain as a loud screech exhaled from what could only be guessed as the child's mother._

"_Stay away from my baby you demon! What would make wish to harm an innocent child! What kind of monster are you?" she had said, that or something like it. I had heard so many say such things to me that I can hardly keep track of all the insults._

_It was at that moment the people began rounding onto my captor, the fool Javert._

_Still, the child still was with me and she urged the coin at me. It was my own foolishness that caused what happened next. I had grown too distraught to see until it was to late that my face had met the cold air. The girl froze as in her childish affection and I saw stiffly that face flushed and watched in fear as she stumbled backwards, falling with a thud. _

_It was my fault. My fault. Because of the horror of my face, the little girl was dead._

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Shifting out of the nightmares of his mind, Erik heard a resounding startle in the water and found the girl had passed out into the water. Her grip was slipping fast even as she spoke to him, even then he had noticed her shivering—the chill from the water must have finally breached her body fully. Without a second thought he begrudgingly swept forward, released the latch upon the doorway and caught the girl's hand before she went completely submerged.

Dragging her out, he laid her down as gently as possible and scanned the room around for something the keep her warm. He had no efficient bed below, but he did have stage props and one in particular might suit the purpose nicely. Running off to fetch it as well as a few curtains he could uses as blankets, he sighed and wondered what he had gotten himself into. Lighting a few candles beside her he stared at her for a few moments before finally finding his voice.

"My name—my name is Erik."

The girl only mumbled in response before falling completely unconscious.

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_Well, I am sooo sorry about keeping all of you waiting, but I tell you school has had it in for me lately. Still, it's spring break so maybe I can get another chapter in before I have to go back. We only have a few days -sadly-. _

_Oh and thank you so much again **gold4roses** and **Kalaia** for your two lovely reviews!_

_-MickeytheMouse _


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